


Mr. Crowley's Mystical Menagerie

by rachelladeville



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Anal, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Carnival, Closeted Dean, Co-Dependency, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Cop Dean, Dark Carnival, Fingering, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of het sex (nothing descriptive), Mild Angst, Pining Dean, Rimming, Ringmaster Crowley, Risky Behaviors, Rough Sex, Sam's crippling fear of clowns, Seduction, Semi Public Sex, Sex Work, Switching, Voyeurism, awkward boner, badass crowley, boys falling in love, dark themes, enticement, orphan Cas, peep show shenanigans, poor parenting, sexual expiramentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 109,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelladeville/pseuds/rachelladeville
Summary: In a sleepy Midwestern town, the brief appearance of a traveling carnival invigorates residents despite the oppressive summer heat. Dean is twelve the first time he and his little brother step up to the ticket booth at Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie. As they enter, a pale faced clown with a smeared, maniacal grin leans in to whisper that strange and wondrous magic awaits them inside…It will be many years before the carnival returns. But when it does, the Winchester brothers will line up again to buy tickets, both unaware of the price they'll really pay.





	1. A Little Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, no beta this time. Try to enjoy it anyway :)

With a weary sigh, Dean turned his back on little Sammy. The boy’s puppy-dog eyes were beseeching and though he would have preferred to return to the video game that was paused in the living room, Dean began opening cupboards in their tiny kitchen. He pulled down the peanut butter, jelly, and bread. As he set to work on making his brother a sandwich for lunch, he listened to the kid’s mindless chatter.

“Yeah,” he answered when asked if there were still chips. After tossing the bag to Sam, he returned his attention to the task at hand. There were no clean utensils in the drawer, so he leaned over the sink and pulled a used one from the precariously stacked pile of dishes. As he rinsed it off, he was tracking Sam in his peripheral vision. 

“No way,” he barked when he saw the kid reach into the fridge for the last soda.

“Why not?” Sammy whined, “you don’t even like Coke.”

“B’cause,” retorted Dean, “you’ve got ants in your pants already. Besides, milk’s better with peanut butter anyway.”

“Not with chips,” the little squirt retorted, grabbing the milk carton with both hands and giving Dean a disgruntled look.

“Then lay off of those too. We just got ‘em yesterday and they’re already almost gone.”

Dean paused his work on sandwiches to reach over and pull down the cup that Sam was now stretching to reach. With it in hand, the boy moved to the table and began working to pour himself a glass of milk. While Sam continued to chatter, Dean put the lids on their sandwiches and transferred them to plates, which he delivered to the table. The brothers sat down together and Sam was blessedly quiet for a few minutes as he worked his way through a PB&J. Biting into his own, Dean’s eyes wandered over Sammy’s shoulder and settled on the couch in the next room. Their father was sprawled on it, socked feet kicked up on the armrest and his forearm draped over his face to shield his eyes from the sun that was beating in through the window. He’d been passed out since the boys woke that morning, snoring heavily and waking only once to stagger clumsily to the bathroom. He’d returned to his resting place on the sofa a few minutes later, cursing as he worked to step over the tangled wires of their Nintendo controllers and the other obstacles that littered the living room floor.

Sam’s eyes were heavy on him, but he hadn’t noticed until the boy piped up and said, “He’s never gonna get up and take us. He’ll just sleep all day.”

“Well, he worked all night,” Dean defended, “dude’s tired.”

“He stinks.”

Dean couldn’t argue that. The living room smelled of him… sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol. The stale scent hung in the air.

“He probably went for a few drinks after his shift,” allowed Dean, “bein’ a cop is rough. ‘Specially on the night shift.”

“Yeah,” sighed Sam, “but if he didn’t wanna take us then he shouldn’t have promised.”

“He’ll take us when he gets around,” countered Dean, his voice growing terse as he tired of the discussion.

“Sure he will,” Sam agreed softly. Judging by his face, the boy didn’t believe it.

“Hey,” he snapped, forcing the kid to look up at him again, “It might be late, but he’ll keep his word. Besides, a carnival isn’t cool til after dark anyway.”

With this having been said, Sam popped his last bite into his mouth and smiled. Seeing a genuine smile spread across Sam’s face had him feeling better. Pushing away from the table, Dean carried his empty plate to the counter and added it to the pile. He stood there for a moment and stared at the daunting mess in the sink. The rhythmic thumping of Sam’s feet on his chair was the only noise for a blessed moment. Then, John resumed his snoring.

Dean put the kitchen behind him and settled back down on the living floor. He un-paused Super Mario Bros and the cheery canned music resumed, filling the small space with sound. Soon enough, Sam was beside him. They played for quite a while. When John got up again to piss, Dean was hopeful. He could tell Sammy was too, sitting up straighter beside him and losing focus on the screen.

“Dad?” prompted Dean as John returned from the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t forget about the carnival, right?”

“Huh?”

“There’s a carnival in town, remember?” Dean pressed, “We got coupons at the grocery store the other day and you said you’d take us on Saturday.”

“Yep. Saturday.” John groaned as he laid back down on the couch.

“It’s Saturday,” reminded Dean cautiously.

“Here,” said John, lurching forward and pulling his wallet from his back pocket, “Why don’t you boys go down to the pool and let me get a lil rest. I’ll take you to the damn carnival after I’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Okay,” agreed Dean easily, jumping up to take the few dollars John had dug out for him. He grinned at Sam as they abandoned their game and scrambled to their room. The carnival wasn’t out of the realm of possibility yet – and with a trip to the pool granted, this day could wind up being damn decent.

Tearing out of the house and into the sweltering summer heat, the boys got about three steps down the sidewalk before he and Sammy cursed out loud and turned back for shoes. The sidewalk was hot as frying pan beneath their feet. Both boys shoved their feet into sneakers without bothering to pull them all the way on or tie them. They walked to the pool with the backs of their shoes bent down under their heels. It was only about six blocks, but without any breeze the air was heavy and damp with humidity. Sweat was trickling down their backs by the time they arrived and paid fifty cents each to enter.

Dean tucked the remaining cash into his crotch beneath the mesh liner of his trunks. Then they stepped out of their shoes and both made a dash for the water. If the lifeguard blew a whistle at them for running, they didn’t notice or slow as they leaped into the air and went splashing into the pool.

The time passed more quickly here than it did at home. Before Dean knew it, the pool was being emptied for a ‘resting period’. Having no towels, they tried to stay where the cement was wet as they sat down shoulder to shoulder with the other kids. Fifteen minutes is a long time to wait and it seemed like forever. Once they were back in the water, time seemed to speed up again. In a blink the pool was getting ready to close for the evening. The sun was low in the sky, evening setting in, and the worst of the days heat had passed. The talk on everyone's lips that day had been the carnival. Even the mom's sitting pool-side had been gabbing about it as they slathered their kids with sunscreen. Their little country town didn't boast much entertainment, and from the sound of it nearly everyone would be heading over to the carnival at some point before it packed up and left.

The walk back home was pleasant, their skin and trunks drying as they made their way south through town. Sam rambled as they went along, talking of the kids they’d played with at the pool, the rides he hoped would be at the carnival, and the things he wanted to do over the summer. Dean nodded along, delivering appropriate responses as needed, but not really listening. His mind was on other things – mostly his father. He wondered what they’d find when they returned to the house. Would John still be sleeping? Would he be cranky when they woke him?

“I’m hungry,” complained Sam as their tiny house came into view.

“Dude, you had so much candy at the pool.”

“I want food Dean, not junk.”

“We’re almost home.”

When they came in the front door the house was steeped in shadow, evidence that the day was coming to a close. When he flicked the light on, Dean could see that nothing had changed since they left. The kitchen was still a mess. There were two overflowing laundry baskets to step over in the hall that led back to the bedrooms. In the living room, John's hulking frame could be seen still laying on the couch.

Unsure of what would happen, but unwilling to wait any longer, Dean crossed to the doorway and flipped the switch to turn on the overhead light in the living room. Blearily, John turned on his side and appeared to try and get up.

“Turn that off,” he barked. Dean obeyed, the darkness even more exaggerated now. He crossed carefully over the mess of toys and video game equipment to turn on the television. The Nintendo was off so the television screen was just solid blue. The light from it was softer than the main light on the ceiling and their father didn’t seem to mind it. “Dark already?” he asked, voice husky from sleeping hard.

“Just about,” answered Dean.

“Any change from the pool?”

“Sorry sir, we used it all.”

“Well,” humpfed John, sitting up straight and putting his feet to the floor, “Go get changed. I’ll take you boys to the carnival.”

It was impossible to keep from smiling as he and Sam both bolted for their room to strip and put dry clothes on.

“Told ya he’d take us,” Dean whispered to Sam as they changed.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered his floppy haired brother as he tugged a t-shirt over his head.

Dean zipped his jeans up and then pulled his foot up to rest on the edge of his bed so he could slip his switchblade into his sock.

“You bringing that?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I bring it everywhere,” chuckled Dean.

“What could you possibly need it for?” pushed Sam.

“Never know," he quipped, "Why do you give a shit?”

Sam shrugged and bent down to tie his shoes. Once dressed, they headed for the kitchen. Passing the bathroom, Dean could hear the shower going. It was really going to happen... their dad was going to get dressed and take them to the carnival. With nothing to do but wait, Dean ambled to the kitchen to fix something for Sammy. He looked through the cupboards and the fridge before pulling down a box of macaroni and cheese. Sam leaned on the counter next to him as he set about making it.

“Any applesauce left?” he asked as he watched Dean cook.

“Um, I think so,” he said, stepping away from the pot for a moment to check. Finding the jar, he pulled it down and handed it his brother. “Put that on the table,” he said, “and see if you can find us a couple of bowls.”

When John finally wandered into the kitchen, he looked like a new man. His hair was combed and he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. “What’s on the menu?” he asked as he tugged a flannel shirt on over top.

“Mac-n-cheese,” Dean answered, pushing an empty bowl towards his father.

“Smells good,” his dad answered as he walked to the pot and scooped out a helping.

John settled in with the boys at the table and they ate in silence for a bit. No one said anything when John picked up the milk carton and found it empty, but Dean held his breath. It wasn’t unusual for something like that to send his father off on a tirade. Fortunately, his luck seemed to be holding today. John let the empty container drop and said nothing. They finished their meal in peace.

“Got the coupon?” John asked as they all piled into the car.

“Yep,” confirmed Dean, patting his back pocket. The heavy rumble of the engine cut through the silence and as they pulled away from the curb John turned on some music. Bad Company.

“Alright," he said, "I want you boys to stay together. Dean, you keep an eye on your brother ya hear?”

“You mean you’re not coming with us?”

“Not this time,” said John, not turning to look at them in the back seat. “I’ve got a buddy that’s havin’ a hard time right now. Gonna swing by his place and check in on him. But, I’ll be back to pick you boys up at eleven. Make sure you’re at the front gate by then, ok?”

“Sure dad,” agreed Dean, watching his father’s arm as it swung over the bench seat to hand him some cash. He took the twenty dollar bill and folded it, sliding it into his back pocket with the coupon for one free admission. 

Upfront, John was starting to sing along with the music.

_Baby, when I think about you_

_I think about love…_

Unimpressed with his father’s singing, but glad the man was in a decent mood, Dean settled back comfortably into the seat. Next to him, Sammy was fidgeting. Upfront, John’s singing grew louder as the song broke into its refrain.

 

 _“I feel like makin' love”_ his father belted out, _“Feel like makin love; feel like makin love to you.”_ The heavy guitar sound and familiar lyrics had Dean wanting to sing along too. But, it’s difficult to know what might irritate his father and he didn’t want jeopardize a good mood if John has settled into one. They’re rare.

 

As the song wound to its end, Dean decided he’d be a fool not to take advantage of his father’s good cheer. After deliberating about how best to phrase his request, Dean piped up from the back seat.

“Dad?”

“Yeah son?”

“Can we maybe get another ten bucks?”

In the front seat, John stopped singing and leaned forward to turn down the music. Dean was watching the rear view mirror and trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face but it was difficult in the dark. With tension forming in the silence that followed, Dean added “I could do some chores for the money?”

“I think that’s a good idea Dean,” conceded John, shifting his weight as he dug around for his wallet again. The light from a set of passing headlights swept through the interior of the car and momentary lit up everything, including the rear view mirror. Dean saw that John was watching him in it. Their eyes held for a beat before his dad’s arm slid back over the seat again and passed Dean a ten dollar bill.

“Thanks dad.”

“Sure thing.”

In the seat next to him, Sam was craned to the side and watching out his window as their black Chevy slipped into a line of cars that were turning onto a side road. Coming up on the right were the colorful lights of the carnival and Sam was enthralled. The kid’s hands may be idle for a brief moment, but his foot was tapping his excess energy into the floorboards. Looking up, Dean saw that the front seat was now bathed in red from the tail lights of the car ahead.

“Look Dean,” chirped Sammy, “there’s a Ferris wheel!”

“Oh goody,” he sighed, “Any other kiddie rides you wanna drag me on?”

“It’s not a kiddie ride.”

“I’ll do bumper cars with ya,” he tried, hoping to get Sam excited about something else.

“Both,” Sam replied gleefully, pulling his knees up under him to sit higher in the seat.

When they finally pulled up to the entrance, Dean and Sam jumped out and headed for the gate. From behind them Dean heard John holler out his window, reminding them of the pick-up time and warning them not to keep him waiting. The man should buy him a damn watch if it was so important.

The huge sign above the entrance read, _Welcome to Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie_.

“Whatcha wanna do first?” he asked his brother as they stepped into the line.

“Ferris wheel.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped up to the counter with his coupon and cash.

“How many?” asked the greasy man behind Plexiglas.

“Two.”

“Five bucks,” said the man as he accepted the coupon.

Dean handed him the extra ten he’d cajoled from his father and waited for his change. When he turned toward the entrance he found himself piling into Sammy who was standing still as a statue ahead of him.

“Go,” he growled.

“Dean,” whispered Sammy, clutching onto his arm, “That clown.”

“So? It’s a carnival. You didn’t think you’d see a damn clown?”

“He’s creepy,” whispered Sam, still not moving.

Dean used the arm linked in his to pull Sam forward. The kid had a point. Perhaps a few hours ago the clown in their path had looked jovial. But if he’d ever had a colored wig, it was missing now. His face was pasty white and the red makeup around his lips was smeared. As he worked to guide his little brother past the menacing character, it seemed to zero in on them. Sam’s grip on him tightened as the distance closed. The closer it came, the less Dean liked the look of this clown.

“You boys have fun in there,” breathed the creepy-ass clown. His voice was hardly louder than a whisper and he leaned in on them as he said, “Strange and wonderful magic awaits you inside.”

“Yeah, thanks buddy,” spat Dean as he shoved his brother past.

“Dean,” pleaded Sam in a soft voice, “I – I don’t think I wanna go to the carnival anymore. Let’s just go home.”

“Aw, don’t be a chicken Sammy. We’ll have a fuckin blast tonight.”

Dean didn’t look back over his shoulder at the clown, but in his peripheral vision he saw Sam do it. “I hope he’s gone by the time we leave,” the poor kid lamented. “I don’t wanna have to stand there and wait for dad with him.”

“Me either,” he said honestly. Then, as they walked out onto the midway, all fear was forgotten. Bright, colorful lights were flashing on all sides. The bells, sirens, and horns of nearby game booths were loud and so was the throng of voices. Underneath all that noise was the constant hum of generators. The boys fell in with the crowd of people moving down the main concourse and as they walked the scents of funnel cakes and cotton candy drifted in on a soft evening breeze.

The Ferris wheel was at the far end, a hulking thing that towered above the other rides. Dean kept Sammy moving, not wanting to stop here and waste their money on games when rides were so much better. As they neared the line for the tilt-a-whirl, Dean noticed the sign. It was two tickets to ride. Looking around for a booth at which to buy tickets, Dean found himself wondering if they’d walked right past it.

“Dean!” shouted Sam, breaking his concentration, “Dean, look, the Gravitron!”

“Dude. You’ll puke,” he replied flatly, still looking for a place to buy tickets.

“I won’t!” insisted Sam adamantly, tugging his arm and trying to pull him that way.

“How many tickets is it?” he asked, his eyes finally locating a small stand where tickets could be purchased.

“Four.”

“This way,” he said, tugging on Sam with him, “We have to buy tickets before we line up.”

Getting out of the car Dean had felt like they had a lot of money to spend. They had $25 left after paying to get in. But, that was only enough for 25 tickets. Math had never been his subject, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that they weren’t going to be getting many rides.

As they waited in line, Dean explained things to Sam. “The Gravitron is four tickets. Each. That means it’s gonna cost eight bucks to ride that thing once. We’ve only got $25 to spend. You see the problem?”

“I guess,” he answered glumly.

“Look, we just have to be picky about what we ride. Let’s walk down and back once first and see which rides are best. That way we don’t end up missing something awesome.”

Sam agreed begrudgingly and they began walking. As they went along, they bantered back and forth about the virtues of each ride versus the expense. The debate between them about which rides they’d be going on was long and exhaustive and came to its conclusion as they waited in line at a ticket booth near the front where they’d come in.

“Next,” called the attendant, barely looking up from the six inch black and white television that was perched on his little counter.

“Twenty,” said Dean, pushing the bigger bill that John had given him through the cut out in the glass.

Mindlessly, the attendant took his money and pushed it into a drawer, pulling off a long string of tickets and passing them through to Dean.

“Next,” he said again, eyes still on the small screen.

“Dude,” replied Dean in a confident voice, “My change.”

“What change?” he asked gruffly, finally turning his attention to Dean.

“Thirty bucks man. I gave you a fifty.”

“You gave me a twenty.”

“Bullshit. You owe me thirty back.”

“Beat it kid,” he growled. But, beneath the bravado, Dean saw the guy waiver. It was just a fleeting moment, but he’d seen the brief hesitation as the man realized that he’d not really been paying attention.

“No way,” he retorted, projecting his voice into a loud and indignant tone. “You think you can screw me over just cause I’m a kid? No way! I know I gave you fifty because that’s all I had. My dad gave me fifty bucks and I’m supposed to buy dinner for me and my brother out of that money. Now give me my change.”

Those in line behind him were starting to whisper. It was obvious that their situation was being noticed so Dean worked to use it to his advantage. Not allowing the cashier any time to recover, he pressed on and hollered, “You tryin to rip me off just because I’m just a kid? It’s not fair!”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay kid,” relented the man behind the window, “here’s your thirty bucks. I wasn’t tryin to rip you off. It was an honest mistake.”

“Thanks man,” said Dean with a smirk, pocketing the cash and stepping out of the line.

“That was awesome Dean,” marveled Sammy as they moved back into the crowd.

“Stick by me, kid,” laughed Dean, dropping an arm around his brother’s shoulder as they walked. “But, if you’re dead-set on ridin’ the Gravitron, we’re doin it last.”

“Why?”

“In case you puke” he teased.

“Jerk,” mumbled Sam, giving him a gentle shove.

“You’ll thank me later, Bitch.”

“Bumper cars?”

“Hell yeah!”

They’d only put a few yards between themselves and the ticketing stand when another kid pushed himself into their space.

“That was awesome,” crowed the intruder.

Dean looked the kid up and down before answering. He had dark, messy hair and bright eyes that locked on his boldly. His skin was tanned and his hands were dirty. “What was awesome?” he asked the newcomer.

“The way you totally got one over on Martin.”

“Martin?”

“Yeah,” replied the kid with a nod towards the ticketing booth, “he’s a real head case. Half crazy, or so everybody says. But he’s mostly okay. That’s why we call him Mostly-okay-Martin. Anyway, if you gotta pick a mark, he’s the best one. You scored, right? Like thirty bucks?”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s nothing to me,” he said. Despite the gruff tone Dean was addressing him with, the kid didn’t seem to take offense. “Just thought it was awesome.”

“So you’ve said,” grumbled Dean, “and I suppose you think you need a cut?”

“He didn’t say that Dean,” defended Sammy.

“Who needs a cut,” laughed the dark haired boy, “I ride whatever I want for free.”

“How’s that?” challenged Dean.

“This is my show,” answered the kid, raising his chin a little and leveling a solid glare at Dean, “I do what I want here.”

“Your show?” asked Sam, clearly interested.

“Yep, I live here. Me and all these other misfits,” he chuckled, turning from Dean to drop an arm around Sammy. “Keep your money kid. Whatcha wanna ride?”

“Hey,” barked Dean, scrambling after them, “Take your hands off my brother.”

Both boys turned to look at him and as they did, Dean shoved the kids hand off of Sammy’s shoulder. “I don’t know who you think you are…”

“Castiel,” said the boy firmly, “But everybody calls me Cas.”

“Cas-ti-el,” echoed Dean, over enunciating the name to draw attention to the strangeness of it. “What the fuck kind of a mother names her kid something like that?”

“A dead one,” said Cas sharply, throwing Dean a look that could kill. Beside the boy, Sam’s face filled with pity.

“So what?” Dean challenged with determination. “Lots of dead mom’s around here. Mine n Sammy’s too. You want a fuckin prize or something?”

“Geez Dean,” said Sam, pulling a face, “Don’t have a cow, man.”

Dean stood watching for a beat as Sam turned Cas away from him and the two began walking together. He stalked along, a few paces behind them, listening to bits and pieces of their conversation. He was more irritated than he had reason to be. Clearly this kid wasn’t after their money. He had no reason to be so defensive. Besides, Sam didn’t have many friends. Who was Dean to begrudge the kid a change to make one.

As they moved down the concourse, Dean smiled a few times as he watched the two boys chatter. He even laughed out loud as he watched Sam give wide berth to a clown making balloon animals. The look Cas gave him was priceless. “It’s just Ron,” Dean heard the kid say. “He’s totally harmless.”

“Ron?” Sam repeated questioningly.

“Yeah,” Cas answered, “Ronald Reznick. Throw some make up and polka-dot pajamas on him and bam… he’s Bozo the clown.”

Dean watched as Sam seemed to accept this. Maybe this new kid would help Sam get over the crippling fear of clowns.

“What’s he look like without the makeup?” asked Sam.

“Well,” laughed Cas, “He aint sexy or anything.”

Dean loved seeing a goofy grin appear on his brothers face and found himself laughing along with the other boys. Soon he was walking along with them instead of behind. He barely even noticed where they were headed as they moved down the trampled path lined with rides. Cas had them in stitches and Dean found that he really loved this kids sense of humor. Plus, he was kind of hard. Rough. He seemed almost like a kindred spirit, someone who was surviving life like he was – not being pampered through it like most other kids were.

Come to find out, Cas' dad wasn't with the carnival like Dean had assumed. Rather, his father had dumped him here after his mother died... just took him to the carnival and then left without him when he was just a tot. Rather than call the cops and hand him over to be a ward of the state, the carneys had chosen to keep him and raise him as one of their own. He’d been with this traveling show ever since. Dean was every bit as enthralled as Sammy and he listened intently as Cas told all about life on the road.

It was easy to see the similarities in their lifestyles. They may not have moved around as much as Cas had… a new venue every week or two… but the Winchesters were a nomadic bunch. They never stayed in one place too long – just long enough for John’s habits to earn them a reputation and then they were off again. The pretense as they moved was almost always “finding work” but Dean knew what it really meant. His father was simply unemployable. He never managed to hold down a steady job for long. His stint on the police force here was the longest he'd managed anywhere for as far back as Dean could remember. 

Caught up in conversation, Dean hardly even noticed what ride they were waiting in line for until they stepped up to it. The ticket taker was a fat and sweaty man, multiple jelly rolls giggling under his striped shirt. He leaned on his post and acknowledged Cas with a nod. To Dean’s surprise, the three of them walked right by him without giving over any tickets. The kid was for real. Sammy’s eyes were dancing with delight as they stepped up to the platform of the Ferris wheel. The attendant pulled the bar back on the passenger basket. It was rocking as they clambered onto it and the metal whined when the bar was dropped into place. Sitting side by side, the three of them reached forward and put their hands on the bar as they jerked forward to begin their ascent.

They didn’t go far, the bucket swinging again as the wheel stopped to let passengers board in the basket behind them. It was a slow progression the first time around, the ride starting and stopping over and over to allow one set of passengers to disembark while new riders got on. Dean was pleasantly surprised by how far they could see from the top. It was higher than it looked. Dizzying.

“What’s over there?” he asked Cas, pointing to a huge red and white striped tent that was set far off from the games and rides.

“That’s the circus,” answered Cas, “It’s only open during the day. There’s a show at 11 and at 3. After that, it’s done.”

“Dude, there’s a circus here too?”

“Well, it’s not as cool as a real circus would be. We only have one elephant. But you can ride it for $12.”

Sam jumped in and asked, “Are there tigers?”

“Yeah, but they don’t do tricks. They just sit in a cage. You get to walk by them on your way in.”

“What else do they have?”

“There’s a dancing bear,” Cas giggled, “It wears a pink tutu.”

“Acrobats?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“It’s far from awesome,” said Cas. His face implied that he’d seen it one too many times. Or perhaps had spent too many hours cleaning up after the animals.

By the time the wheel had gone around once, it was fully loaded. With new passengers in every basket, it really started moving. The ride was more thrilling than Dean cared to admit. They rocked their basket, he and Cas laughing as Sammy protested, and when they crested the top at full speed and dropped back toward the ground, Dean felt his stomach lurch.

“That was better than I thought it would be,” he conceded to his brother as they climbed off. The three were inseparable the rest of the night. They rode the bumper cars, the whip, the double shooter, and the sorry excuse for a roller coaster. They did the fun house twice, chasing each other through the hall of mirrors and laughing to tears when they’d slam into the glass.

When they’d been down the midway and back twice and had ridden everything they cared to at least once, they stopped and forked over actual money to eat. Cas wasn’t allowed to eat free at the trucks, he said, but instead was expected to eat “at camp” where regular food was made at all hours for those who worked “the show”.

Dean loved watching Cas wolf down corn dogs and lemonade, which were as much a treat for him as they were for he and Sam. They ate their fill, not having to worry about how much it cost because they still had the thirty bucks that Dean had conned off of Mostly-okay-Martin. They got caramel apples for dessert and then bought cotton candy to carry with them as they resumed walking the concourse. The only thing they hadn’t done was the haunted house. It had escaped their attention because it was set back from the main area, likely because it wasn’t kid-friendly.

“Wanna?” asked Dean, licking his sticky fingers.

“Not really,” admitted Sam.

“How bad is it?” Dean asked Cas.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied, “Never been in there.”

“Never?”

“If I need to see something scary,” teased Cas, “I’ll just hit the showers when the bearded lady is in there.”

Sam was grinning when Dean glanced over at him. He'd been happy all night and Dean loved it. Looking over at the haunted house again, Dean noticed that the concourse forked here. Another road, somewhat smaller, veered off into the dark. As he gazed down it, Dean could see a few clusters of tents glowing softly in the distance. He noticed a sign and asked Cas what it meant.

“What’s Burlesque?”

Gesturing in that direction with a tip of his head, Cas answered, “That parts only for adults.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. You have to be 18.”

“What’s down there?”

“The sideshow, the peep show, other stuff like that.”

“Naked chicks?” laughed Dean, “Dude. I’m _there_.”

“No you’re not,” laughed Cas, throwing an arm around Sam to steer them away, “Not unless you’d like some big burly guys to show you to the exit… the hard way.”

“That almost sounds like a dare,” boasted Dean, holding his chin high.

“Well,” said Cas, looking at Sam, “It might be kinda fun to watch your brother get thrown out. Wanna be the one to lay down the dare? Or should I do it?”

“Nobody should do it,” answered Sam. His face was serious. He obviously didn’t even like joking about a trip to the ‘adults only’ section, or the implication that Dean might get thrown out. “C’mon Dean,” he added, “let’s do some more rides. How often are we gonna get to ride for free, right?”

On some level, Dean knew he should turn back. He should link arms with Sam and Cas and head back to the midway. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from the prospect of doing two things that he loved to do… get a peek at a naked lady and subvert authority.

“You know you’re curious,” he challenged to Cas. Any fool could see it on the kids face. This was his home and he’d never seen what lay beyond the sign that read ‘Burlesque’?

“A little,” he afforded, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sneak down there and get caught.”

“Then don’t get caught.”

Dean stared at Cas and let his argument hang in the air between them. No one spoke for almost a solid minute. Dean didn’t relax his posture or give up his position. He wanted to get a peek at what was down there.

Cas stared at him and Dean could see him considering. “C’mon,” he challenged, “Let’s have some real fun.”

“Okay,” agreed Cas, “But we can’t take the road.”

Dean followed when Cas started walking off into the dark, off the path and away from lights and sounds and people. Behind him, Dean heard Sam groan out loud and follow them begrudgingly. He was so much younger that he probably didn’t give a shit about seeing naked chicks. Dean, however, was certain that this was a life goal.

Once they were a few dozen yards away from the midway, the grass was no longer mowed. It was tall and it tangled around their feet. The ground was uneven too so they had to move slowly. If it weren’t for the light of the moon, they’d have been in pitch dark. But, thankfully, they could see enough to walk and not get lost.

The three moved in a wide arc, coming up on the cluster of adult themed tents from behind. It took a long time. When they reached the point where the grass was mowed, they sank down into the tall grass to watch from a distance. There were a bunch of tents grouped here. But from their vantage, they could only see the side of three. The path from the midway to here was visible and Dean could now see that there were people walking the dimply lit path. A slow trickle, all men, moving towards this part of the carnival. Also, near the opposite end of this section, was parking. Apparently people could come here without even attending the carnival itself.

The boys watched for quite some time, trying to determine their plan of attack. Sam complained a few times, dead-set on heading back to the midway. He worried that they were running out of time before their father would be here to pick them up. At the mention of John, Dean realized that he didn’t even know what time it was.  He was perplexed for a moment as he pictured John parked near the entrance, angry and fuming with no sign of his boys. If that scenario played out, it would be a long time before John Winchester allowed them another day like the one they’d had today. The threat of his father’s temper didn’t do what it should have – return him to the midway with his brother. Instead, it filled him with the idea that he’d better make this worth it. With that in mind, he leaned in closer to Cas and said, “Let’s do this.”

Cas nodded agreement and whispered, “Have you noticed the pattern?”

“Um, no?”

“See those two guys there?” he asked, pointing toward a couple of heavy set men walking around the backside of the nearest tent.

“Yeah?”

“They’re security. They walk a lap around this tent and then move to that one,” said Cas softly, gesturing to their right. “Then they disappear for a long time, probably circling the tents we can’t see, because in a few minutes they’re gonna pop up over there,” continued Cas, pointing now to the left side. Dean waited and watched for a short eternity. Sure enough, the same two men were emerging from around the corner of the tent on the far left.  “I think those two are the perimeter guards. They’re job is probably to be sure that nobody is lurking around between tents.”

“How do you know?”

“Educated guess,” chuckled Cas, implying that he knew pretty well how the carnival operated.

“What are we going to do?” wheedled Sammy, “Make a run for it and peek under the bottom of the tent?”

“S’not a bad idea,” retorted Dean, “S’pecially if we go to the middle. The guards are only really walking along the outside, right?”

“I guess,” agreed Castiel half-heartedly.

Dean was getting used to Cas, learning his body language. He turned to the boy and said, “You think there’s more guards, don’tcha?”

“Yeah, probably. There will be at least one person watching the entrance to each tent, taking money. There will be at least two people inside each tent too… just watching to make sure things happen the way they’re supposed to. Probably some extras working the customers too… making sure they spend money.”

“Fuck,” moaned Dean, “Can’t they give a kid a break? I need to see some titties.”

“Dean!” barked Sammy.

“Sorry kid,” he chuckled, “I can’t help it you’re still shoppin in the juniors section. I’m almost thirteen. I’ve got needs.”

Castiel leaned in close and whispered, “I think we should wait until the patrol gets there.” Dean followed Cas’ pointing finger to the tent on the right. “Once they get there, we can cross to the closest tent without them seeing us. Then, we can sneak a peek in the tent. If we see what we came for, we can just turn back. If not, we can move to the tent on the right and do the same. As long as we follow the same pattern that the gaurds are following, we’ll always be behind them.”

“Dude,” said Dean, holding his palm up for a high-five, “You’re so stealth.”

“Yeah, well, if we get busted I won’t be able to sit down for a week. This had better be worth it.”

"My thoughts exactly," quipped Dean. Again, he found himself feeling a connection to this boy. They were so much alike.

The three waited patiently for security to return from the left. Then, when the moment was right, they hefted up from the ground and ran towards the tents. Dean ran at a dead sprint and was pleased that Sam was able to keep up. They didn’t stop at the tent, but followed along its length until they could round the corner and be out of sight if the security detail happened to look back.

Breathing heavily, Dean dropped his hands to his knees and rested bent over like that as he took in their surroundings. The tents were bigger than they’d seemed from a distance. They didn’t appear to be arranged in a grid pattern and not all were the same shape. It seemed unorganized. There were more tents than Dean had been expecting. Some were tan colored and some were striped red and white, but all were dingy and showing wear. Cas was looking around too and Dean realized that he needed to orient himself to the layout of the tents so he’d be sure to move in the right direction. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally pop out from between tents and draw the attention of security. Once his head was wrapped around which tent they were at, and which would be the next they visited, Dean looked at his co-conspirators and gestured forward.

“After you,” he teased with a smirk.

Cas was the first to step forward. He walked up to the wall of the tent and sank down to his knees, working hard to pry the canvas up even an inch so he could look underneath.

“Great view,” he said with an eye roll when he sat back up.

Dean, curious, slid down in the manicured grass to peek the same way Castiel had. Cas was right. He had a view of some more grass, and then solid wood. A wall of some kind.

“I don’t think this is the tent we want,” added Cas.

“Ya think?” Dean heckled.

“There’s no music, Dean. That’s what burlesque is.” Dean loved the way Cas threw sarcasm back at him, teased him. He was a bit rough around the edges and that’s what Dean liked. Respected.

“So, burlesque is just a fancy word for strippers?” he asked.

“Not exactly, it’s like, girls dancing around and showing off and stuff. Its kind of old fashioned. They wear big costumes.”

“Well, I guess you just saved us the trouble of searching out the right tent then. We just follow Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber until we hear music, right?”

“I guess so,” responded Cas. Sam was still silent, but he followed along with them all the same.

When the sound of music floated in on a breeze, Dean looked over at Castiel and he nodded. They prowled forward and the closer they got, the louder it got. This wasn’t music piped through speakers like the rides on the midway. This was some poor bastard pounding out show tunes on an old up-right piano; it was almost comical. It seemed risky to walk along the side of the tent facing the perimeter because it would leave them exposed in plain sight. But, they had no choice. The entrance to the tent was at the opposite corner and there were a half dozen men loitering there. Their voices carried in the night air and their talk was unabashedly dirty.

“I’ll just be the lookout,” volunteered Sam, appearing uncomfortable as Dean and Cas both went to their knees for a peek inside.

“Dammit,” cursed Dean in a whisper when he got a look, “Can’t see shit.”

“It’s a stage,” Cas said softly, turning back to face Dean, “I’ve seen plenty of these and I know how they’re set up. If we can get inside, we can crawl between the tent and the stage. No one will see us and we can get a good look without having to watch our backs.”

Both set to work on the canvas, but no matter how much they pulled on it, they couldn’t even get a few inches of clearance - let alone enough room for them to wiggle underneath. Looking up at Sammy from the ground, Dean grinned and pulled out the blade still nestled in his sock. “And someone seemed to think I wouldn’t be needing this tonight,” he said to Sam sarcastically. His brother rolled his eyes again and watched as Dean turned his attention to cutting into the canvas. It wasn’t easy, but it was working. A shaft of yellow light cut across the dark grass as he cut enough material to make entry possible. "You know how it’s set up,” Dean reminded Cas, “You go first.”

Cas moved up to the opening and poked his head in, looking to the left and the right before wriggling into the tiny opening and pulling his legs through. Dean put his knife away and gave his brother a look. “You really gonna just wait out here?” he prodded.

“Guess not,” Sam shrugged, dropping to the ground.

“Attaboy,” praised Dean, “You wont be sorry.”

It was his turn to peek inside now, and once he did, he understood why Cas had suggested entry. This tent was big and full of people, he could hear them. The audience was watching a show on stage and the stage was set up along one end of the tent. It was made of plywood painted black and it was comprised of sections that were easily separated and loaded into the back of a semi when the show was over. They could have crawled under the stage if they wanted to – they were small enough. But, why would they? After all, the show was on the stage.

Dean turned his attention to Cas who had pulled his legs up under himself and was now rising up to peek over the edge of the stage. Dean copied the movement and when he caught a glimpse of the excitement, he stopped fearing someone would see them. No one would would notice anything in here because all eyes were glued to the spectacle on stage.

Just a few feet away from the boys there was a line of women dancing. They wore colorful dresses that were way too tight and as they worked their way around the stage, they gave the audience a good show. Each lady had a bell shaped skirt and repeatedly flipped it up in time to the music. Under each dress was a sea of petticoats that swirled artfully and promised the occasional peek-a-boo of skin. To accentuate this, the women flaunted about the stage doing high kicks and encouraging every man watching to pray for a quick glimpse at the matching panties beneath.

Dean was on his knees, chin resting on the stage and watching with delight when he felt a firm hand on his calf. Turning, he saw the hands of a grown man reaching through the hole he’d cut. As the grip on him tightened, he realized that it was security and he was about to be pulled out of this tent by his leg.

“Fuck!” he cursed to Cas and Sam, “We’re busted!”

Dean turned and kicked out wildly, scuttling to his left as he tried to get away by moving along the small space between the stage and the wall of the tent. It was useless though. Because of the cut he’d made in the tent, there was enough wiggle room for the arms of both security men to reach under and grab at him even farther down.

“Quick,” shouted Cas, no longer needing to whisper, “Under here!”

Dean nodded and prepared to follow Cas under the stage, waiting for Sammy to scoot in before him. He followed along, a little too tall to crawl, squirming forward on his belly. The assembly of framework that was pushed together to make the stage didn’t leave a wide birth, but allowed for them to crawl a narrow and winding path between 2x4’s and the sheets of plywood that blocked their path every few yards. The entire structure was vibrating with the weight of the dancers who stomped around on it in their high heeled boots. The noise from above was deafening.

At one point Dean took a swift kick to the jaw when he pressed in too close to Sammy’s feet. Cursing, he waited a beat before moving forward again and took the opportunity to look behind him. No one was climbing in after them. Of course not, there was barely room for kids in here. No way would either of the over sized carneys would have fit. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued wriggling along. When they emerged, Dean made to stand up. Instead he wound up frozen in place, halfway to standing. A startling shout had caught his attention. It came from the audience. As he tried to see through the crowd, Dean heard his name barked in a rough whisper from behind. Sam’s voice.

Before he could even react to his brother’s urgent warning, Dean saw the problem. Barely visible between the swirls of layered petticoats that held every eye in the room, Dean caught a glimpse of movement. Fast. Purposeful. Their pursuers were closing in. Unlike Dean, Sam, and Cas, these men had known where their little escape tunnel would lead and had simply circled around the outside to come through the entrance and cut them off.

Surely it was fruitless to return to the crawl space under the stage. Dean was certain that at least one man had remained behind to cut them off, should they wind up going back the way they’d come. To go back meant almost certain capture. So, improvising, Dean swiveled around to take in the entire room. His eyes searched urgently for some other way out. When he found it, he reached behind him for Sam’s hand, tugging his brother along with him. There was a dark triangle near the opposite corner where the canvas material at the seam of the tent didn’t quite meet. The opening was larger at the bottom than at the top and even to Dean’s unfamiliar eye, it was clearly an opening – either to the outside or to another tent. There was a burly man standing near it like a sentry but as their pursuers had entered, the doorman had pivoted and moved away from his post, presumably to see what the commotion was about and lend a hand if needed.

It was perfect timing. They needed out, and now there was a doorway left unguarded. The three moved quickly, darting out from behind the stage and into the crowd. The music was loud around them and the crowd was boisterous. Bawdy piano music filled the stale, smoky air and the men in the audience were singing along or cheering as they took in the tease that gyrated on stage. And who could blame them? The spectacle of it was really something. Big curly hair in every color, smiling faces with bright lipstick, voluptuous bosoms laced up into corsets so tight that ample breasts spilled out over the top. The only competition for ones attention was the occasional flashes of long leg that kicked out from the sea of ruffled petticoats, showing a little more skin each time.

Dean didn’t even realize he’d been smiling as he ran, practically gleeful as his body pulsed with the excitement of the chase, the thrill of possibly being caught, and the tease of sexy adult themes that he was supposedly too young to enjoy. He heaved himself through that unguarded doorway, ready to make a run for the open ground that separated this cluster of tents from the midway. However, stepping over the threshold pulled the reckless smile from his face quickly.

This wasn’t an exit.

This was another room… another tent... and it was full of people. A trickle of dread seeped into his bones as he processed the change in lighting and atmosphere. As if in a video game, they had just stepped up to the next level. The next level of deep shit they were in. The peep show had been off limits, but the act of sneaking in had seemed light-hearted somehow. Funny and excusable.

But this, this was not funny. No adults were going to chuckle about the mischief of young boys when finding out that Dean had brought his eight year old brother into this room. This was… off limits. So very off limits.

Absorbing the sudden change in atmosphere caused a misstep for Dean. His ankle rolled and he stumbled, body rocketing forward with the momentum of his gait. For a split second, he thought he’d sprawl onto the ground. But, the resistance of Sam’s hand firmly holding his own was his saving grace. As he recovered, the two knocked together a little. Then, half a heartbeat later, they were both jostled as Cas crashed into them from behind. The three stood together for a heartbeat and took in the room.

There were men milling about, and women on display.  Some were leaning on the bar and some were dancing seductively. They were all showing too much skin, flashing indecently and preening for the men who stopped to look at them. Some women had on only lingerie – little one piece lace numbers that looked like swimsuits but were silky. Some even wore thigh-high tights or fishnet stockings held up by clips. It was obvious what was happening here. The men were getting drunk and the women were selling themselves.

The woman nearest to Dean was wrapped around a gross old man with a potbelly. Her hand was stroking up and down his chest and she was smiling at him as he brazenly cupped a hand to her breast. The ruffled top she wore hung loosely on her and was so low on one side that almost her entire breast was visible. The man’s fat thumb was pulling it lower still. Dean could see half her nipple. It wasn’t easy to tear his hungry eyes away from the dusky circle peeking out, but when her head snapped over to look directly at him, the jolt of it seemed to remind his body to panic. To move. To fucking run.

Behind Dean, Sam gave a shove and practically growled, “Go Dean!”

“Where?” he bit back as he began moving into the room.

“There!” Sam answered, angrily pushing him forward. Following Sam’s pointing finger, Dean glimpsed a door behind the bar. With another possible exit in sight, he broke back into a run. Just as he did, the carney henchmen spilled into the room at their backs and brought chaos with them. If there was anyone here who was unaware of their presence before – they weren’t oblivious anymore.

All eyes fell to them as they shot across the relatively open space in the center and headed for the blackness that lay beyond the next doorway. Dean ran like the devil. His breaths and heartbeats were loud in his own ears and drowned out the shouts of those chasing them. With Sam and Cas on his heels, Dean launched himself through this next opening, carrying with him the highest hopes of freedom. He longed for the vast openness of the meadow beyond these tents and the ability to break wide open and really run. These carny ogres would never be able to catch up with them out in the open.  

However, as he fumbled through yet another opening, Dean found it difficult to adjust to his surroundings. He felt as though he was stuck in an episode of The Twilight Zone – where each door he passes through brings him farther from reality as he knows it. The three of them seem to be sinking deeper into trouble with each threshold they cross.

The saloon type room they’d just passed through had been tame compared to what they found here. This time, Dean's feet didn’t falter. They carried him swiftly forward as he wound through a series of passageways. This huge tent was divided into small booths, the walls of each being nothing more than sloppily hung curtains. As he frantically pushed through the space, eyes probing for some sign of an exit, he couldn’t help but notice how little privacy these little rooms afforded those who used them. The mismatched and well-worn curtains hid nothing, huge gaps allowing too much to be seen by anyone who passed. Dean had never seen so much skin in his life and even at the tender age of twelve, Dean knew a whorehouse when he saw one. These were hookers. With customers. And the three of them were in some deep shit.

The smell here was new to Dean, but he knew it for what it was. Sex. A stab of honest-to-God guilt seared through him as he realized that his brother was way too young to be seeing all he’d seen tonight. This was bad. And, to make matters worse, the three of them were merely a few seconds ahead of those who would grab them by the scruff of their necks and haul them downtown for trespassing. The thought of his father coming to the station for them sent a new kind of fear rolling down his spine and it quickened his pace.

He ducked left and right, working to lose those who chased them through this poorly laid out den of iniquity. For a split second, he considered the possibility of splitting up. Then, as he ran along an exterior wall, he saw the very real possibility of an exit. Not a doorway this time, but a rip in the tent. It was only about knee high, but was perfect. None of the huge henchmen chasing them would be fitting through that; but kids would.

As he lunged for it, he worked to catch himself on his arms and keep all limbs moving. He scrambled through the opening with all he had, turning as he did so he could watch and be sure the others made it as well. He saw Sammy come squirting through, followed immediately by Castiel. As the two tumbled into a pile, obviously relieved to feel the stir of outside air on their faces, Dean was already on his feet and bending to drag them to theirs.

The boys were standing on a small strip of grass between two tents, like an alley. It was dark with no moonlight falling in the shadow of the tents.

“Which way?” whispered Sam urgently. Dean had no idea. He was all twisted up from fleeing and had no idea where they even were. His heart thumped wildly as he heard their pursuers approaching. The idea of being caught now, only seconds from freedom, was abhorrent. Any second now, the carney-henchmen would round the corner and spill into the alley with them. He had to think of something and quick.

The only advantage they had was their youth. They had more speed and stamina than the lumbering fuckwits chasing after them. On open ground, they’d escape. But, being chased around between tents? That only increased their chances of being caught. More and more carneys would join in the effort to subdue them until there was no hope of escape. Plus, these men knew the layout. They had both size and knowledge as an advantage. So, in a lightening quick decision borne solely of instinct, Dean opted for hiding over fleeing.

Turning away from the sound of approaching voices, he hustled down the alley a bit to put some distance between them and the rip in the fabric that they had emerged from. Then he dropped to one knee and pulled his switchblade out again. He grabbed the bottom seam of the tent in his left hand and used the blade in his right to stab the material. Working faster and more confidently than the last time he’d done this, Dean jerked the blade upwards with all his might and felt the material give. He worked his arm back and forth a few more times, extending the slit in the fabric a bit more. He kept it small, hoping that the material wouldn’t pucker or flap around. As he tucked his knife away, he nodded approvingly. No one running past would notice this flaw in the fabric.

Dean didn’t speak. He led by example, thrusting himself head first into the slit and pushing his way through. He kept quiet, not knowing what he was crawling into, but found himself relieved that it was dark inside. He put his palms into cool grass as he worked to pull his legs the rest of the way into the tent. Scrambling to his knees, he turned back to help his brother climb through and then Castiel. Once they were inside they stayed still, clustered together and crouching down. The boys listened intently as their eyes adjusted to the dark of this new tent. Nearby there was a crate and it was the only thing Dean could see clearly. It swelled hope in his chest that this was a storage area – one they could hide in for a while and let the hunt for them exhaust itself outside.

He had to work to control his loud breathing, not wanting to be heard on the other side of the canvas. They all exchanged a hopeful look and held their breath as the sound of approaching voices and heavy footfalls neared them. From outside they could hear the curses and frustration of the carneys as they arrived at the rip in the whorehouse and didn’t catch sight of the boys they’d been chasing.

It was impossible to hold back a gleeful grin when Dean heard one of them shout to the others, “C’mon boys, let’s split up.”

There were only a few more seconds of anxiety as they waited for the men to depart. Then, simultaneously, they all let out a sigh of relief. Dean settled down cross legged on the grass in the dark to wait. Cas and Sam did the same.

As his heartbeats slowed Dean found his ears ringing from the sudden silence. But then, as relaxation set in, he started to hear subtle sounds that had evaded him while under duress. There was breathing. Movement. They were _not_ alone.

Immediately Dean put his finger to his lips, the universal sign to be quiet. He locked eyes with Sam first, then Cas, a silent command to be still. He listened intently, trying to figure out what lay beyond the crate that was blocking his view. The longer he listened, the more nervous he got. This wasn’t the sound of one person breathing. This was the sound of several people, nearby and breathing heavily. There was also the sound of movement, the rustle of fabric. Soft, rhythmic thumping. A moan. Another.

He didn’t want it to be true, but the longer he listened the more obvious it was. There was sex happening nearby. Logic dictated that some couple was sharing their hiding place, having snuck off to find a place they could be alone. But that didn’t sit right in Dean’s mind. As he pondered the situation he came to realize why. It was because he was hearing more than two people.

With dread creeping back into his bones, Dean turned his body and pulled himself upwards against the wooden crate. Very slowly and carefully, he raised his head to peek out from behind it. There wasn’t much light. But, the two poles holding up the peaks of this tent had lanterns hanging from them. The light was warmest there in the center and the rest of the space was swathed in shadows. Behind him he could feel Sam and Cas pressing closer. Without turning back to face them he reached his hand out, seeking Sam’s. When he found it he clasped it tightly.

Dean didn’t turn to face his brother, only tipping his face towards him to direct the sound of his whisper as he said, “Stay down.” He didn’t let go of the hand in his as he continued to look around. The longer he looked, the better he could see. Details started to take shape for him and the more he saw, the more he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And hearing.

Beside him, he felt a shifting but he didn’t turn to acknowledge the body that pressed up next to him. He did squeeze his brother’s hand though, to acknowledge his presence. Meanwhile, spit was backing up in his mouth and he needed to swallow. It wasn’t easy. He had to work to close his mouth first. That’s when he realized it had been hanging open. Dean turned then, finally ready to look at his brother and admit that he’d really fucked up this time. That’s when he found himself looking into electric blue eyes rather than Sam’s puppy-dog brown ones. It was a jolt. Dean felt the snap of it through his whole body as he looked into Castiel’s eyes and realized that it was this boy’s hand he’d been holding. Worse yet, he noticed that his body warmed at the realization.

He dropped Cas’ hand as if it had burned him but his new friend didn’t seem to mind. He had risen up beside Dean and was now turning to look out at the room with curiosity. Dean glanced back, searching for Sammy in the dark shadow that pooled behind their crate. He was there, still sitting on the ground and waiting for Dean to tell him what to do next. Holding up a finger to indicate that he needed a minute, Dean waited for Sammy to nod in agreement before looking away.

With Cas beside him, Dean looked out over their crate once more. He kept staring, just trying to get the images to make sense. Then, he continued staring long after they did. Instinctively he knew that he shouldn’t be enthralled like this. But he was. There was no denying it. With an overwhelming sense of shame, Dean raked his eyes over the room and tried in vain to stop looking. Just. Stop. Looking.

But he couldn’t.

His stomach quivered in a strange way and his dick tingled between his legs. Heat swept over him like a wave and goosebumps broke over his skin. This room had none of the flair of the peep show, none of the pretense of the saloon tent, and none of the privacy of the whorehouse.

People were openly engaged in sex acts everywhere, out in the open and in full view of one another. Dean’s eyes roved over the naked forms that worked on each other in the dim. Some were moving fast, humping like mad. Others were moving slowly and seductively. Some were leaning against crates or pallets of boxes as they were pleasured, while others were bent over them indecently. Some had simply dropped to the ground in a writhing heap.

Dean didn’t know how he’d not heard noises the moment they crawled into this tent – because they were surprisingly loud. Heavy breathing, moans, grunts, even curses. As his eyes darted from one group of bodies to another, he noticed that some were even silent, mouths locked open in either pain or pleasure but with no sound coming out.

He drank in the sight, his dick filling and his mind too addled to even think of fighting it. There were hands on asses… fingers pinching nipples… cocks thrusting furiously… mouths sucking greedily… everywhere Dean looked he saw flesh and sweat and the filthiest sex he’d never even known to imagine. The air was thick with the scent of it and filled with the sound of it, and the desire for it exploded inside of him like fireworks.

There wasn’t a woman to be found.

This room was full of men. Fucking each other. Sucking each other. Using each other. Suddenly aware that he was rock hard in his pants, Dean heard his brother’s voice like a cold, wet splash of water.

“Dean!”

Sammy’s demand for his attention from behind him finally broke the spell and snapped Dean back to reality. In response to his brothers harsh bark of a whisper, Dean turned to his brother and barked, “I said stay down Sammy.”

For the first time he could remember, Dean wished his brother wasn’t with him.

“What is it?” Sammy pleaded softly from behind him, “What do you see?”

“Trouble,” he croaked out.

And that was the truth too. Even if they got away from the tents and back to the midway… even if they were on time to meet their dad… even if no one was ever any the wiser… something had changed tonight for Dean. He knew something about himself now, and he’d never be able to go back to the bliss of not knowing.

Dean stood next to Cas and watched men fuck each other by lantern light. His body was so attuned to the sight that he could actually feel his cock pulsing with each thrust that one man laid into another. Neither boy moved a muscle or looked at the other. But, when Dean felt the back of Cas’ hand brush against his, he didn’t pull away. Minutes passed with both of them unabashedly watching, filled with lust, the smallest sliver of their skin touching. Too soon, Sam called to them again. They both turned, Dean working to get to the ground with a raging boner in his jeans. He sat for a moment facing his brother and waiting for his erection to go down. He knew it would, eventually. When relief started to come, he said, “I think it’s time we made a try for it don’t you?”

Sam nodded agreement. Dean pushed himself up from sitting and crawled to peek out of the slit he’d cut in the side of the tent. No one was around and the night was quiet. He proceeded to crawl cautiously through and get to his feet. Sam and Castiel followed and they moved quickly on silent feet to the end of the little grass alley. Poking his head out from their safe space, Dean saw that they were on the opposite side of the grounds from where they’d entered. He looked both ways before he darted out of hiding and made a run for the tall grass. He could hear the heavy breaths of Sam and Cas flanking him as he went and they all dropped to the ground when they reached the cover of the unmown meadow.

Dean laid on his back and looked at the stars above while he recovered his breath. “We made it,” he whispered, “I can’t fucking believe we made it.” Rolling over onto his stomach, Dean joined Cas and Sam in looking back at the tents they’d just escaped from. His eyes roved over the peaks of the tents in the moonlight and the vehicles parked in a makeshift parking lot nearby. He dropped his head down low on instinct when he saw the carney-security patrol round the corner. A soft giggle escaped Cas as they watched from afar. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle too because now there were four instead of two.

“We better go Dean,” Sammy said from beside him, “It feels really late and Dad’s gonna be pissed if we’re not at the gate on time.

Dean sighed deeply and turned to his brother. In a voice barely above a whisper he said,  “I don’t think we need to rush.”

“Why not?”

Dean extended his arm and pointed towards the parked cars. “See that car over there? The third one from the end?” When he heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath, Dean knew his brother had seen it. There, parked at the ‘adult’s only’ section of the carnival, was a mint ’67 Impala. The only one in town.

“Wow,” said Sam flatly, “So this is why he didn’t come with us tonight? So he could come here?”

“Hey,” Dean chided, “He said he was gonna check in on a buddy that was havin’ a hard time. Maybe he did. Maybe he brought the dude here to cheer him up.”

“Why, Dean? Why do you always defend him?”

“C’mon,” he said, not wanting to get into an argument, “Let’s get outta here.”

“Dean…”

“Not gonna get into it with ya Sammy. Now, let’s go get a funnel cake and ride the Gravitron. I wanna see you puke before we leave.”

Sam chuckled at Dean's suggestion and they got to their feet. Together the boys headed back toward the colorful lights in the distance. The walk back gave Dean plenty of time to clear his head. He worked hard not to glance over at Cas, but it wasn’t easy.

Back on the midway, the crowd had thinned considerably. There weren’t really lines for the rides anymore so they rode a few of their favorites as they worked their way back to the front of the concourse.

“Hey,” said Cas, as they passed a ticketing booth, “did you know you can sell back the tickets you didn’t use?”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Dean stepped up and exchanged the twenty tickets that had been in his pocket all night. Then, he walked over to the funnel cake truck and bought one for each of them. As he took his treat, Dean asked the lady what time it was. He was surprised to hear her say that it was just after midnight. He was glad they hadn't busted their asses to meet their father at eleven. 

“The rides close at twelve-thirty,” said Castiel. It was easy to hear the sadness in his voice. He didn’t want their time to be up, Dean could tell. He didn’t want to say good bye either. They lingered near the entrance eating warm cakes covered in powdered sugar and when they tossed their paper plates into a nearby trash bin, Dean reached out and flicked a puff of white from Cas’ nose. Those blue eyes settled on him and he could feel it all the way down to his toes. The two smiled softly, Dean thinking for the first time that he might like to kiss a boy. He hoped that Castiel’s shy smile meant he was thinking the same.

A minute later Sam finished eating and threw his plate away too. Dean watched his brother dust the sugar off his hands and then looked back at Cas. There really was nothing more to say. It was time to go. Past time.

“I’ll walk you guys out,” Cas volunteered.

Dean nodded stiffly and the three walked out the gate together. There were a few cars idling nearby, likely waiting for someone, but there was no sign of John. Sam rolled his eyes and said, “I knew it. I knew he’d do this.”

Watching his brother drop to the ground in a heap tugged at Dean’s heart. He settled down in the grass next to Sam and rubbed his back as he said, “Hey, don’t think about it okay? Don’t ruin an awesome day by thinkin about the one thing that blows.”

Sam didn’t look up at him.

“C’mon Sammy… it was a good day. We slept late, we played video games, we went swimming and to the carnival. Hell, we _tore up_ the carnival! And, we made an awesome new friend.” Dean winked at Cas as he said it and saw Sam lift his head. He watched as his brother hugged their new friend and then turned back to him. Dean opened his arms for Sam as he leaned in for a hug. “Thanks Dean,” Sammy mumbled into his t-shirt, “You’re the best brother there ever was.”

Dean rocked a little as he held his baby brother and he found himself looking over at Cas again. The boy was staring at him and chewing his bottom lip. Sam didn’t sit back up after his hug. He laid his head down in Dean’s lap and curled up in the grass. The kid was exhausted and emotionally wrung out, it was obvious.

“He’s tired,” Dean said softly to Cas as the boy walked around to sit down on Dean's other side. 

“I wish I had a brother,” murmured Cas, his eyes lingering on Sammy. Dean could feel the weight of Cas’ words. When their eyes met again, he realized how lonely Castiel really was. It was all over his face. Dean could think of nothing to say or do, but he wanted to. Oh how he wanted to.

Minutes passed as they watched cars coming and going, people leaving the midway with balloons and giant bears, one sad clown milling around out front. The ground was littered with trash. Behind them, silence descended as the carnival slowly shut down for the night. Dean shifted a little under the warmth of his brother, just wanting to be a little closer to Cas. Next to him, Cas did the same. The soft sound of snoring wafted up from Dean’s lap and he chuckled, smiling over at Castiel.

"The kid’s had a long day,” Dean chuckled, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I’m glad I met you guys,” said Cas, turning the full weight of his eyes on Dean again.

Dean nodded agreement and tried to keep his eyes from dropping down to look at the boys lips. He failed. He was watching when the flash of a pink tongue darted out and wet those lips. Snapping his eyes back up, he found Cas leaning towards him a little.

Dean just _had_ to know. He leaned in too, as far as he could go without jostling Sam in his lap. Cas met him in the middle and touched their lips together timidly. It was sweet and gentle and everything around them just faded into the background. The world stopped spinning for a moment as the two lingered, close but no longer touching, neither ready to pull away yet. Then, Cas exhaled a breath and Dean could smell the sweetness of funnel cakes and the promise of affection and he was powerless to hold back. He leaned back in and sealed his mouth around those plump lips. He pressed his tongue between them.

With a moan Castiel opened and let their tongues slide together. It was electrifying and Dean’s heart somersaulted in his chest as he sank in for more. He felt a hand come to rest on his cheek and for the second time tonight, he found himself wishing Sam wasn’t here. He wanted to wrap his arms around Castiel and sink into the grass with him. Touch him. Taste him. 

But, as usual, John Winchester exhibited the worst imaginable timing. Dean could hear the distinct rumble of the Impala in the distance, and his heart broke that this moment had to be over. He withdrew from their kiss, but before pulling back he gave Cas two more pecks, finding the will to separate as he did. But, he could not find the strength to look at Cas again. Instead he looked down at his sleeping brother. Then, John rumbled up in front of them.

“Sammy,” he said as he laid a hand on his brother’s head, “Dad’s here.”

The poor kid was groggy as he sat up, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “What time is it?” he complained.

“Dunno,” Dean answered, getting to his feet.

“Bye Dean,” said Cas as he backed away. “Bye Sam.”

Finally Dean found the resolve to turn and watch Cas leave. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow,” promised Dean. But even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t happen. By the look on his face, Cas knew it too. He smiled for Dean though, a sweet smile with a hint of sadness.

By the time Sam was awake enough to say good bye to Castiel, the boy was a few paces away with his back to them and John was waiting impatiently. Sam climbed into the back seat and slid over so Dean that could get in too.

“Sorry bout the time boys,” said John as he put the car in gear and pulled out, “I fell asleep at my friend’s house… just knocked right out on the couch. I tell ya, I’ve been workin’ too damn hard these days. The minute I sit down somewhere, I just fall right asleep.”

Dean didn’t bother responding to the lie. He just tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes for the drive home. He had a lot to think about.

 

 

                                      

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for your comments :)


	2. A Harsh Life

“Hey, Dean, come check this out,” Sam called from the couch.

“What is it?” he hollered back from the kitchen.

“I’m not just gonna tell you, Jerk, get your lazy ass out here and look.”

Biting back harsh words, Dean shut off the water at the sink. He left the dishes half done and walked to the living room, drying wet hands on his jeans as he went.

Sam was on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows perched on his knees and the remote held loosely in one hand. As Dean stepped into the room, his brother nodded to the TV screen and said, “Look familiar?”

Dean turned his attention to the television set. Sam had paused the commercial for an upcoming movie and the image of blonde woman was now frozen on the screen. “Not really, should she?”

“Yeah. She should. Give yourself a sec.”

Dean shifted his weight to the other leg and let his eyes wander over her face. Yes, there was something familiar about the set of her jaw, the purse of her lips. “She’s familiar,” he conceded, “I feel like I should remember her. What else has she been in?”

“A swimsuit,” laughed Sam, obviously toying with him.

“I’m blanking,” he admitted, “Give me a hint.”

“She looks amazing with a whistle in her mouth.”

“Not helping,” he laughed, “Give me a _better_ hint.”

“Seriously? Dean. She was your masturbatory fantasy for, like, three summers in a row.”

Dean felt his face stretch into a wide grin from his brothers teasing, but that clue was even less helpful than the last. Truthfully, there hadn’t been a girl in any of his fantasies for years and years. But that was his own dark secret. It wasn’t Sammy’s fault that he believed the lies Dean tossed about for public consumption.

“I give,” he grumbled, “Who the fuck is she?”

“That’s Jo Harvelle,” he said with utter disbelief, “She graduated when you were a freshman, remember?”

“Oh yeah…”

“Yeah, she was a lifeguard at the pool when you were in junior high. You used to say you loved the way she blew… her whistle.”

“I did…” he sighed, remembering the way he used to talk about her.

“Yeah, man, you blamed her for an awful lot of stiff socks.”

“Well, she was somethin’ wasn’t she?” Dean quipped, stepping away from the television and heading back to the kitchen.

“She was,” agreed Sam from behind him, “And look at her now – a real actress – in an actual movie. She always said she was going to Hollywood, remember?”

“I do,” he confirmed over his shoulder as he headed back to the sink and turned on the water. Back to washing dishes, Dean’s mind wandered lazily through the past. His mind’s eye teased him with images of their summers here, the same small town they’d been in since Dean was ten. He thought of high school baseball games with his friends on warm summer nights, stretching out in the cool grass to watch fireworks on the fourth of July with his brother, and lazy summer days spent at the pool. Jo Harvelle had been the hottest lifeguard by far. She was the embodiment of every fantasy and all the boys had wanted her. All but Dean. He watched her sometimes, up there in her chair, because he was expected to. Because all his friends did. But he mostly just wondered about her, when he watched her blow her whistle. He’d always had the feeling that she was unknowable in some way, like she wasn’t what everyone thought she was. She’d told anyone and everyone that she was meant to be a big star someday. He smiled as he realized that this was her big moment, he was happy for her.

As he finished up the dishes, Dean’s mind began traveling to more unhealthy memories. Sadly, the ones he really loved had one thing in common. The absence of John Winchester. Once thoughts of his father began to creep in, they chased away the warm nostalgia of days gone by. Working to dispel the unpleasant thoughts, Dean turned his attention to the task at hand and began working faster. When the last dirty dish was sitting in the drying rack, he let the water out of the sink and began wiping the counters. The clock on the microwave read 3:30 when he finished up.

“Hey Sammy,” he shouted over the TV, “I’m leavin for work soon. You need a ride anywhere?”

“No thanks.”

“You hungry?”

“Always!”

A smile twitched at Dean’s lips as he rolled his eyes and pulled open the fridge. Little Sammy wasn’t so little anymore. He’d eaten his way over the six foot mark and was still shooting up; his gangly limbs proving how fast it was all happening. The kid was constantly hungry and Dean teased him about it all the time, joked that he had a hollow leg.

Dean grabbed a pound of hamburger from the meat drawer and let the refrigerator swing shut behind him. Working quickly, he began forming it into patties. Keeping his brother fed was a whole lot easier now that Dean had finished school and started working. He no longer had to try and convince his father to part with the money for groceries. He could just buy them out of his own paycheck and not have to argue with John about the cost of every single item he purchased. There was always milk in the fridge now, lunchmeat in the drawer, cereal in the cupboard, and bread on the counter. There were even Twinkies. Enjoying the scent of cooking meat, he fried up four thick patties. When he’d finished, he loaded three onto buns with fixins, plating two for Sam and one for him.

His brother perked up when Dean came back in the living room with food and he moved over to make room on the couch. They watched TV as they ate burgers and chips, then Dean took their dirty plates to the kitchen. He sighed as he laid them in the sink too – it never stayed clean in the kitchen for long. As he put the fourth burger into the fridge for his dad, Dean couldn’t help but feel discontent as he left the kitchen with a greasy pan on the stove and dishes in the sink. He was always cleaning… but nothing was ever clean.

He put on a uniform, stepped into boots, and grabbed his keys from the counter. “See ya Sammy!” he called over his shoulder as he left.

“It’s SAM,” his brother corrected harshly. Dean cut off the sound of his brother’s protest by closing the door a bit harder than he needed to. When he stepped outside the air was hazy, a late afternoon sun glowing orange from its low position in the sky. The day had been beautiful, one of the few they’d have before the real heat of summer set in. The Impala looked amazing in this light and it was impossible not to smile as he approached his baby. It was the one thing John had ever really given him that wasn’t required. After all, the minimal care and feeding of dependents is required by law. And aside from this car, that’s all John Winchester had ever done for his boys. The bare minimum.

The drive to the station was too short, not even lasting long enough to finish the song he was listening to. Sitting in the car for a few minutes to let it finish only seemed fair. After all, for a Zep tune, you have to show respect. Besides, whenever he hears _All of My Love_ , he always thinks of Castiel. The warm weather setting in must have him yearning for summers past, he decides, because he’s been plagued by the memories all day. Even now, as he gets out of the car and walks across the lot, Dean has a set of vibrant blue eyes hovering in his mind and he feels lighter as he remembers how it felt to look into them.

The good feelings flutter away like dry leaves on an autumn wind when Dean passes by John’s truck. It’s an ugly thing, he thinks, but his father seems sold on it. He’d driven across two states to buy it used, and now spends an inordinate amount of time working on it. If only he invested as much of himself in his kids as he does in his vehicles. Feeling his mood sour, Dean worked to stop the nagging thoughts about his old man. After all, the Impala that his father lavished attention on was now his; he should be glad that it was well cared for.

Entering the police station, Dean headed for his cubicle, stopping on the way to grab a cup of shitty coffee. Benny greeted him with a half-smile and a nod as he passed. “Dean.”

“Ben,” he acknowledged. Dean didn’t linger to talk since it was obvious that Benny was in the middle of something. But, he’ll come sniffing around later if he needs company. The night shift in a small town is unpredictable. One night he’ll be bored out of his mind and the next he’ll be as busy as a one-arm bar tender. Sadly, things rarely get exciting here. They just get weird.

Sitting in his cubicle and sorting through the contents of his inbox, Dean catches a thick scent that he’s become far too familiar with over the last year. It’s not a bad scent, it’s just not really masculine enough to stir his interest. A moment after he catches a whiff, a familiar voice pulls his eyes up from his work.

“Hey grumpy,” teases Pam as she slides a hip onto the side of his desk.

“Hey sexy,” he replies, leaning back in his swivel chair to give her his full attention. “You headed out on patrol?”

“You bet, but I’ll have my radio on if you feel like talkin dirty,” she winked.

“Well, I might have to put in a call,” he teased back at her, “Give the boys somethin to listen to while they rub one out.”

Both he and Pam glanced over at Benny with wide grins, wondering if he’s heard them.

“Don’t need you guys to get the job done tonight,” he laughs from across the aisle, “Andrea’s back in town.”

“Well then,” said Dean to Pam, “I guess I’ll be too busy to call ya after all. Benny aint doin shit tonight.”

“I’ll take a call if one comes in,” he protested.

“I’ve gotta call!” shouts Donna from upfront.

“Not it!” yelled all three at once through laughter.

“That’s you Winchester,” Benny barked loudly.

“Bullshit,” he tossed back, “It’s all you.”

“I’ll take it for both of you boys,” said Pam, twisting seductively as she pushed off of Dean’s desk, “But you both owe me one.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” laughs Dean.

“No preferential treatment,” she said softly, running a finger along the bolt of his jaw before turning to leave. “And you know _exactly_ how to make it up to me.”

Indeed he does. He and Pam have been bumping uglies on a regular basis for about a year now. He likes her enough, for a girl. And she seems to like him too – in a non-committal way. Plus, it looks good for him to be banging chicks. It keeps people from guessing about his real feelings; he’s been playing that game since puberty. He plays like he’s a ladies man, and that works just fine for him. It got better once he was out of school because he could hook up with older women without it being scandalous. They’re better suited for him, without a doubt.

First and foremost, he doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in a relationship like he did with the girls in high school. His hookups have been very low maintenance since he dipped into the ‘hot moms’ and ‘still single’ crowd. Plus, this new breed of woman that he’s into are better suited to him in the bedroom as well. They do things like get on their hands and knees and beg him to fuck them in the ass. It’s so much closer to his real desires than heavy petting with a sweet girl that needs an hour of reassurance before _and_ after plain vanilla sex.

Pam doesn’t want anything from him, other than his ‘sweet ass’ in her bed from time to time, so it works for both of them. He suspects she’s got her heart set on someone she can’t have – that’s the only reason he can think of why she continues to seek out an easy lay like Dean over a good man for the long haul. Honestly, he she’s amazing and deserves more. But, if that’s all she wants, he’ll give it to her.

He’s got a few others on his short list too. If he needs a date for some social function or to blow off some steam on short notice, he’s not without choices. But, sadly, he’s barely enjoying most of the sex he has. It’s hardly sex to him at all. He gets to blow his load, which is typically better with someone than alone, but afterwards he’s always left wanting. That’s probably why he so frequently daydreams about sex with men. And, pathetic though it may be, the collective images of celebrity crushes and secret porn are all he’s got to think of when he wants to come. That, and the memories of the fuck tent at Mr. Crowley’s. The sights he’d soaked up that night with Cas had stayed with him for almost a decade now.

“Can you sign this for me?”

“Huh?” replied, suddenly pulled back from his deep thoughts.

“Can you sign this for me?” Donna asked him again, holding out a standard complaint form he’d turned in yesterday, “You forgot to sign it.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said as took the form from her and pulled out a pen. She made small talk with him for a few minutes but eventually headed back to her desk and left him to his thoughts. The time passed fluidly that night because there was so little to be done. He managed it all on auto pilot. Even his patrol. Most of his shift was spent wandering through memories of the past or wondering why he does things the way he does. The lack of hard work didn’t keep him from getting tired though. Arriving home in the early hours of the morning, Dean was moving slow as he woke Sammy and made him breakfast.

“Where’s dad?” his brother asked as he flopped down at the table to inhale his eggs.

“Dunno,” he replied, not bothering to wonder where John had landed after his shift, “You have a test today right? In trig?”

“Think so.”

“You study last night?”

“Nah.”

“Sammy –

“It’s SAM,” he corrected, giving Dean an icy look.

“Dude, you were Sammy for like sixteen years. Give me some time to get used to it.”

“Fine. But if you’re still calling me Sammy when I’m a senior, I’m gonna have to start calling you Deanie.”

Dean huffed a laugh, “Blow off a few more tests and you’ll be junior for another damn year.”

“You’re one to talk. You barely passed. I get way better grades than you ever did.”

“Yeah,” Dean bit back, only half joking, “But you’re way fuckin smarter than me. And you keep talkin about getting outta here… like runnin off to the city for a better life and stuff, but then you don’t do anything to make it happen. With grades like yours, you’re headed for a position at the police department with me and dad.”

“Fuck off Dean, it’s too early for this shit,” mumbled Sam as he pushed back from the table and grabbed his bag.

“I’ll see you at four then,” he barked from the kitchen as Sam blew out the door. Turning to drop the frying pan into the sink, Dean caught a glimpse of his brother through the small kitchen window. He was loping down the sidewalk toward a car that idled on the street. Sam's friend Andy was driving and Kevin was in the front seat. Sam climbed into the back, folding his knees up to fit, and then the car sped away. The little Renault was badly in need of a new exhaust system and Dean could hear it long after it drove out of sight. Looking down at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink he whispered, “Life sucks.”

Allowing himself five hours, Dean set his alarm and flopped into bed. He’d never understood the appeal of crashing on the couch like his father does. But when he woke, that’s where he found John. Dean took a shower and then began cleaning up. Sam and his friends had clearly spent time here last night while Dean was at work. There were empty soda cans everywhere, empty bags of chips, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate next to a shriveled up pickle. He stepped carefully over the VHS tapes and video game cases that littered the floor and began cleaning up. Then he changed the laundry from the washer to the dryer and began folding. He delivered freshly folded clothes to Sammy’s room and scooped up his dirty things from the floor. Then he stepped up to the washer and threw in another load. He’d nearly finished the dishes when he heard the obnoxious sound of Andy’s car pulling up outside.

Looking up, he waited to see if the boys would get out and come inside. Thankfully, they did not. Dean wasn’t up for the hassle. He knew he needed to do something about his brother but he wasn’t sure what. It was a pain in the ass to do chores like a housewife every day, cooking and cleaning and shopping for the boy as though he were a son and not a brother. But unfortunately, that was the easy part. Sam needed love, guidance, discipline. Things that Dean had no idea how to give him. He couldn’t rely on John for any of those things, so the responsibility fell on him.

“Hey,” greeted Sam when he pushed through the door.

“Hey.”

Dean watched as Sam opened the fridge and pulled out the fixins to make himself a sandwich.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“Did you pass test?”

“Hasn’t been graded yet,” he answered without looking up, “but I’m sure I did fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Dean, don’t start okay?”

“Why not? If you don’t give a shit about your future then just say so. I’ll shut up. You can just work at the factory or somethin. Play video games on weekends and call it good. But _you’re_ the one who keeps sayin you want more out of life. Well Sammy, I don’t know how to break it to ya but to get more ya have to give more. Ya have to put in some fuckin effort.”

“Dean, I’m gettin kinda tired of this ‘parental figure’ routine you’ve got goin on. You’re not my father even if you act like you are. If I want someone to tell me everything that’s wrong with me, I’ll go sit down next to dad for half an hour. I’m honestly sick and tired of both of you! Between you and dad… I swear…”

The words seared like a hot knife. The accusation cut deep. How could his brother possibly categorize him with John? Did Sam really not see a difference between them? Didn’t this kid realize how much Dean had shouldered for him? How many times he’d interceded to protect him? How hard he worked to keep things as normal as possible? How the things he did were out of love and not selfishness?

Dean leaned back against the sink, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest. His eyes stung with tears and he fought them hard, but one still slid out and rolled down his cheek. He wiped it from his face, detesting his weakness, and sought to burn off the anger that boiled up in his chest. He stormed out the door and climbed into his baby, squealing tires as he pulled out. Halfway through town he started wondering just where he was headed. He was far too angry for a booty call. What he needed was to punch something.

With that thought in mind, Dean turned south and headed for the station. Fuming as he parked and headed in the back door, Dean took the stairs to the tiny gym in the basement. No one was down here, which was good. Once the light was on and the door was shut, Dean blasted Metallica on the stereo and started working the bag. It felt good to vent – to let the anger boil over in him like a pot on the stove. He pulled more and more of that anger up from the deep stores where he locked it all away, and then he balled it up into his fists and punched it out.

Hammering the bag with no protection on his hands soon had his knuckles stinging. A dull ache was working its way up his wrist when he finally found the ability to stop for a second. He opened his locker and changed into workout clothes, grabbed a drink, and pulled gloves on. Then, with purposeful strides, he crossed the room and resumed throwing punches.

Having let out the worst of his anger and frustration, Dean found himself able to think more clearly. He tried to focus on who he really wanted to be punching right now. Who was his anger really directed at? It wasn’t Sam. He knew that. Trying to think objectively changed nothing. The answer now – as always – was John. Accepting that truth, Dean lowered his chin and tried to picture his father’s face on the heavy red bag swinging in front of him. Then he settled into a rhythm, bouncing from his left to his right, and he pummeled the face that had made his life so hard, so empty, and so very pathetic.

By the time he’d exhausted himself, his head was throbbing. His arms were stiff and sore and his wrists were screaming in protest. He was drenched in sweat. Before heading into the shower stall, he turned down the music a bit. In the absence of pure rage, it was just too loud.

Cold at first, the water shocked him into being physically present and not locked away in his head. He paid attention to what he was doing as he warmed up the water, soaped his hair, scrubbed his pits, and rinsed off. Toweling dry, he started to feel tired. He craved food and a nap. The decision to head home for both was easy.

Walking up the sidewalk, he let his eyes rove over their tiny little rental house. It wasn’t so bad. John had housed them in far worse when they were young and moving around a lot. This was a decent house in a nice town and Dean was glad that John had managed to learn enough self-control to at least keep himself employed here.

Despite all that Dean felt his father had done wrong, he had to acknowledge that it could have been worse. There were lots of kids out there with worse parents. In fact, there were some kids with none at all.

Dean had made his peace with the ways of John Winchester a long time ago. Though anger towards the man was a constant, Dean was able to keep it pushed down and locked away most of the time. Despite having pictured his fathers face as he'd thrown punches today, Dean knew that in this particular case, the the triggering issue was his relationship with Sam and not their dad. Living a hard life, he's come to to think of himself and his brother as a team, a united front, both unified as they tried to survive life with John Winchester. But, the way Sam had talked earlier, it would seem that he thinks differently. As much as it pains Dean to acknowledge it, it would seem that his little brother perceives himself as a single entity rather than than part of a team. Sam thinks that he has two problems in his life - John and Dean. Finding out that his brother feels this way has been a bitter pill to swallow today and he's still processing it.

Walking into the house, Dean paused in the kitchen for a long, deep breath. For the first time in years, he didn’t clean anything. He didn’t check on anyone. When he started moving, he went straight to the fridge and pulled out food only for himself. He bypassed the living room where John was still passed out on couch and walked right passed Sam’s closed bedroom door. In the privacy of his own room Dean turned on some music, ate cold pizza, and fell asleep to a mixtape he’d made for himself. He slept soundly and woke feeling rested. But, it was oddly unsettling to realize that he had nothing important that he needed to be doing.

He didn’t have a shift tonight. But even on his nights off, Dean was still used to having responsibilities around the house. Cooking dinner, for example, and cleaning up afterwards. Nights off tended to be his time to make a trip to the grocery store or mow the yard. But honestly, those were all duties he’d assigned to himself. If Sam, the most important person in his life, was going to feel angry and resentful that he was doing those things – he should probably just stop. Unsure of what to do with himself, Dean considered just heading up to the bar. It had to better than moping around here. Just as he sat down to pull boots on his feet, there was a knock at his door.

“Yeah?”

His door cracked open and Sam’s head peeked in. “Dean?”

“What,” he responded flatly.

“Can I come in?”

“No point in that,” Dean responded coldly, “I’m leaving.”

“C’mon Dean, don’t be a dick.”

Dean’s fingers stopped moving on his boot laces and he turned to look at Sam incredulously.

“I brought a peace offering,” he said, stepping into the room. Dean said nothing and waited for Sam to say whatever it was that he’d come to say.

“What do you think?” prompted Sam, pulling something out from behind his back, “Wanna have some fun tonight?”

Even squinting Dean couldn’t see the writing on the small piece of paper that Sam was holding up. He finished tying his laces and stood, crossing the room in two strides so he could snatch the piece of paper from his brother’s hand and get a closer look. It took a minute for the significance of the item to register, but when it did, Dean looked up at his brother and said, “Where’d you get this?”

“Up town,” he gushed, “Everybody’s talking about it. I guess they rolled into town this morning and started setting up.”

Dean looked back down at the flyer in his hand. The color scheme was different this time and there was no coupon attached, but this little advertisement was very clearly announcing the arrival of Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie. The flyer said ‘Two nights only – something for everyone - rides, shows, and attractions for all ages’. Dean looked up at his brother, completely lost for words.

“My friends are all going, and I was gonna go too. But then I thought about it and, well, it just didn’t feel right to go with anyone but you.”

“Aw Sammy,” croaked Dean, pulling his brother into a one-armed hug and slapping his back fondly, “You wanna take me to the carnival?”

“Well, technically, you have to take me cause I don’t have a car. But, yeah.”

Dean didn’t even have to think twice. He herded Sam through the doorway and down the hall with one thought on his mind. Castiel.

The brothers climbed into the car, all bad feelings forgotten, and headed across town. Traffic in their quiet town was heavy tonight, car loads of people turning out for the carnival. Sam, though hulking in his seat, was carrying on like he used to when he was young. He chattered about the rides he wanted to go on, which girls from school he hoped would be there, how late it would stay open, and it just went on and on. Dean parked the Impala in the gravel and they started walking toward the entrance. Even then, Sam was still yammering. Dean, however, was hardly listening anymore.

“… and I really mean that. Dean? Dean?”

“Yeah?” he replied, realizing that Sam had been calling his name.

His brother laughed loudly, then turned around and started walking backwards so he could look at Dean while speaking to him, “Man, did you hear anything I said?”

“What? No. I guess I missed that last bit,” he conceded.

“I said, that night we went to the carnival together was one of the best nights of my life.”

Dean wasn’t sure he felt quite the same about that night as Sam did. For his brother it had probably been fun, making a new friend, riding unlimited rides, and having enough money to eat all the junk food they wanted. No doubt it had been exciting for him too, being chased around the back areas that they weren’t meant to see, and then getting away clean. The kid had seen his first glimpse of sexy skin that night too. Even if it had been overwhelming at the time, when Sam looked back on it now, it was probably a good memory for him.

For Dean, however, the experience had been vastly different. He’d had a shocking revelation about his sexuality that night. It was such a monumental thing, and yet, he’d had no guidance to help him understand or accept it.

Since that night, Dean had been aware that he was fundamentally different from almost everyone else. He knew there were others like him, but they were few and far between, and they were subject to endless ridicule. Fearful and ashamed, he’d kept this new side of himself a secret. But, there was one person who knew him for what he was. Just one.

Cas. Cas who had kissed him and accepted him and wanted him. Cas who had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Cas who he’d thought of and dreamt of and wished for ever since. Thoughts of his blue-eyed boy pulled Dean to the admission gate like a moth to a flame.

Foolish as it was to imagine that Castiel would be here, recognize him, and somehow still feel the same – Dean couldn’t help holding out hope. Somewhere deep down, Dean understood that Sam wanting to come with him tonight was both an apology and a gift. But thoughts of his brother were a long way off as they stood in line for entry.

Stepping up to buy their entry passes, Dean shook off his contemplations and focused on the present. Sam wasn’t complaining, but he was obviously feeling apprehensive as several clowns worked the crowd of people waiting to get in. The antics of the clowns were perfectly normal – joy buzzers for handshakes, water-squirting lapel flowers, things like that.

However, as he and Sam moved onto the grounds, one seemed to follow them for a while. It was unnerving. Sam continued to look over his shoulder, unable to let it go and just walk. Dean was about to turn around and just tell the fucker to back off when a petit young woman did it for him.

“Beat it, Bozo,” she said through laughter. Then she turned big chocolate eyes to Sam and asked his name. Hers was Ruby, and she reassured Sam that she’d protect him from all the clowns if he could just win her a big stuffed animal. Seeing his brother tongue tied and flustered over the girl was fun, but the awkward young love growing between them was slowing him down.

Dean discreetly palmed his brother a few twenties and told him to show her a good time. After separating from them, he turned his attention to scanning the crowd. He walked up and down the midway several times. When he bumped into people that he knew he was polite, but he only had eyes for one person. Too bad he had no idea what that person would look like now. Ultimately, what he was doing was scouring the place for a guy that was roughly his own age with amazing blue eyes. Hours went by with no luck and eventually he had to concede that it wasn’t going to happen.

Truthfully, if Castiel was his same age, then he’d probably left this carnival long ago. Probably the day he’d turned 18. Maybe he had gone to college, maybe he had enlisted. Hell, for all Dean knew, he’d jumped a train and was riding the rails. Grabbing himself a conciliatory corn dog and waffle fries, Dean settled at a picnic table. He nibbled at his food, sipped lemonade, and watched the townsfolk go by. He saw a few familiar faces in the passing crowd, like his favorite waitress from the diner and one of Sammy’s teachers.

A half dozen yards away was a truck selling slushies. Still picking at his food, Dean found himself watching a young girl who was waiting in line. There was something a bit odd about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. She was young, probably younger than him, but she must’ve been out of high school because she carried herself more confidently than school-age girls usually did. He had no idea what it was that held his attention on her but he must’ve been staring because she giggled and whispered something to her friend. As she did, both of them looked right at him.

“Hey stranger, fancy meeting you here.”

At the sound of a familiar voice spouting a cheesy line at him, Dean looked away from the girls and spun to see Officer Mills walking up to his table. “Hey Jody,” he said, scooting over on the bench to make room for her. She had a big bag of Tom Thumb donuts in one hand and drink cup in the other. As she settled in next to him he said, “Thought you were on tonight?”

“I was, but when I heard the carnival was in town, I wanted to bring Owen. Donna pulled a double to take my shift.”

“And were is little Owen?” asked Dean pointedly, looking around for a stroller.

“He’s with his daddy. They’re riding the choo-choo train for the third time. I’m on a sugar break.” Opening her bag of treats and pulling out a tiny cinnamon donut, she sank her teeth in and moaned. When she’d swallowed she asked, “Where’s the lady of the evening?”

“Haven’t picked one yet,” he chuckled, falling right into his usual bravado.

“Well, a fine looking young man like yourself could probably just sit here all night and let them line up.”

Dean huffed a laugh, dropping his eyes for a second to take another bite of the corn dog that had grown cold in his hand. When he looked up again he saw the two girls from the slushy line walking his way. The girl who’d intrigued him sashayed up and said, “Mind if we join you?”

“And so it begins,” teased Jody with an exaggerated eye roll.

Dean gave the girls a nod of approval and they sat down across from him and his co-worker. Their small group made awkward introductions and an attempt at conversation, but it didn’t take long for Jody to excuse herself. When she did, one of the girls got up to leave as well. Left to themselves, he and the remaining girl slid into less stilted conversation. But, hopeful beyond logic, Dean kept one eye on the passing crowd for Cas.

Disappointment was his companion tonight, the hollow feel of it dissipating only to flood back over him again and again like waves rolling up on a sandy beach. Making conversation wasn’t easy in his melancholy mood and he felt that somehow this girl must notice it despite his attempts to retain the fun and flirty façade that was more normal for him.

She sipped on her cherry slush, bright red tongue darting out repeatedly to lick her lips as they chatted. Her name was Lydia. She had strawberry blonde hair, pouty lips, and a lovely peaches-and-cream complexion. Easy and relaxed with a warm sense of humor, Dean could see himself spending some time with her. She was obviously interested in falling into bed with him and that was a plus too. But it was impossible not to think of her as consolation prize – a warm and willing body that was useful only in keeping him from being utterly alone tonight.  

He told her about his family, his job on the police force, and the old Chevy he loved maintaining. She seemed intuitive, almost too perceptive. He constantly had to redirect her probing and insightful questions as she peeled away his layers of protection.

They talked for a while before she suggested heading down to the games together. It would be awesome, she said, if he could win her a stuffed animal to take home. “It’ll give me something to remember you by,” she added, staring into his eyes deeply.

Dean heard that line for what it was… an admission that she knew this was a one-off. That she was cool with it. If he got up to play games with her, he’d be fucking her tonight without a doubt. However, the desire to have sex, to get off with a willing body, was strangely absent. He almost bowed out. But the desire to not be alone took priority. Working up the energy to give her a trademark wink, he rose from the table and began questioning her on which prize she coveted… the pink stuffed unicorns or the white teddy bears.

She linked her arm through his and leaned into him as they walked down the midway. She flattered him constantly and lavished attention on him as he played various games, losing more and more of his paycheck in the fruitless attempt to put something fluffy into her arms. Trying to toss rings onto milk bottles and failing miserably, Dean decided to give up. Turning away from the booth, he set his sights on finding a game he might actually be able to win. As he slid his arm around her waist and prepared to move back out onto the concourse, there was a man in his path.

Normally when someone steps in your way, you simply step around them. Perhaps you utter an “excuse me” as you pass by them. But that wasn’t possible in this case. This man had planted himself here and was staring directly at Lydia. Stopping short, Dean felt his heartbeat kick up a notch. This would often happen in the presence of an attractive man – it was just part of life. Hiding his body’s reaction was always the hard part. He’d adapted by avoiding attractive men at all cost, admiring them only from afar. When faced with someone he found sexy, Dean generally kept eye contact to a minimum and conversation short. Keeping to his habits, he directed his attention to Lydia, rather than the imposing man as the two began to speak.

“It’s late,” the man said to her, “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

The words he used, combined with his tone, made Dean wonder if this guy was her brother or a boyfriend that she’d ditched.

“It’s not that late,” she countered, “And we’re having fun.” Then, she tried to step around him and pull Dean with her. He didn’t move though. Couldn’t move. The man had caught his eye. And once he looked at the guy straight in the face, he knew.

The soft baby fat had melted away leaving wide cheekbones – a striking face. A face he recognized. Castiel. The eyes were as bright as he’d remembered and the hair was still on the messy side. Lips. Dean felt his eyes drop and it was too late to stop them. Allowing himself one heartbeat to examine the lips he’d once kissed, Dean returned his eyes to the icy ones that bored into him now.

As he’d walked the grounds tonight and searched for Cas, Dean had assumed that any reunion they had would be a happy one. Clearly he’d been wrong. Castiel didn’t look happy to see him at all. The cold glare he leveled at Dean sent a frigid shiver down his spine and he immediately dropped Lydia’s arm as though it were a snake that had bitten him. “I wasn’t…” he stammered, “I didn’t…”

Cas turned away from Dean’s sputtering and set his sights on Lydia. Holding his breath, Dean watched him take a step into her space and say, “You’re done here. This one’s mine.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. She looked back and forth between he and Cas, and then she backed away. Dean watched her turn away from them and step into the crowd, disappearing like an apparition. Returning his gaze to Cas, Dean found the man’s face softening.

“Dean,” he whispered reverently.

“Cas,” he replied softly, stepping forward to embrace him like an old friend. In his arms, the guy’s frame went rigid and no arms returned his embrace. Again, Dean found himself wondering why their reunion wasn’t a warmer one.

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel,” suggested Castiel, “for old time’s sake.” Dean nodded, happy with any opportunity to spent time together. As they turned and began walking towards the rides, Dean found himself grateful that they’d found each other again, if even things weren’t going the way he’d expected. The line to ride was a long one but Dean didn’t care at all. He was thrilled for every minute he got with Cas. As they shuffled forward a few steps at a time, Cas asked him about little Sammy.

“He aint so little anymore,” laughed Dean, “Dude’s taller than I am now… even towers over dad. It’s awesome.”

“How old is he now?”

“Seventeen. He’ll be a senior next year,” bragged Dean with a smile. Then he added, “… if he can pass all his classes.”

“He’s not doing well?” probed Castiel, “He seemed so smart.”

“Oh he is, quick as whip. But he’s in high school. You know how that is… lots of distractions.”

“Actually,” Cas clarified, “I don’t know how that is. I’ve never been to school. What kind of distractions?”

“Well, ya know, girls and stuff. Sports. Friends. Parties. Part-time jobs. Stuff like that.”

“I see.”

“So, how did you get out going to school? Do they homeschool the kids here?”

“There’s no school. We learn the trade.”

“Wait – that’s it? You learn how to work the carnival?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what if you don’t want to do that?”

“What else would I do?”

Dean was stunned. “W-What do you mean Cas? You’re cut out for more than this place – anybody can see that. Just cause you were raised here doesn’t mean you owe these people anything.”

“Actually, it does Dean. My place is here.”

The two fell silent for a moment, Dean working to gather his thoughts. “So…” he tried, “You’ve never even thought of a life away from this?”

“Sometimes, I guess. But I’ve also thought of having a family. That doesn’t mean it could ever really happen.”

Dean had no idea how to continue the conversation. He was stunned to the core. The fact that his friend was so resigned was hard to swallow. But, underneath his astonishment, something else was eating away at Dean. It took a while to put his finger on what it was. But when he did, he could not remain silent about it.

“Dude. For as much as you say that your place is here, you don’t seem to care about it. I mean, you don’t talk about anyone here. Is there someone? Someone you’re attached to? Like a father figure or a best friend or something?”

“Not really. I mean, we’re all one big family, but I share a sleeping compartment with a few other boys my age. We work together, eat at the same table. I suppose I think of them as brothers, though we’re not special to each other the way you and Sam are.”

Suddenly Dean’ mind flashed back to the night of their meeting. He saw it, clear as day, the sadness hovering around Castiel as he’d looked at Sam in Dean’s lap and whispered, “I wish I had a brother.” Empathy filled Dean at that moment and he longed to reach out and hug this guy – this boy who’d grown into a man. It was obvious that he’d never really been loved; not in a way that mattered. The longing to reach out and fold Cas into his arms was strong. But remembering how stiff Cas had been when Dean had hugged him before reminded Dean that it wouldn’t help. This young man obviously hadn’t been raised with affection and thus the expressions of it meant nothing to him.

Dean wanted so badly to bridge the gap, close the distance between them. But he had no idea how to do that. When it was their turn to ride, Dean followed Cas to the platform. They climbed into a basket together and leaned back. The slow progression as the passengers behind them were loaded was frustrating because it was a perfect time to talk. They were alone. It was private. But still, Dean was at a loss. As they neared the top, Dean looked out over the sprawling venue. He noticed the circus tents off to one side, darkened at this late hour, and he also saw the adult’s only section. Glancing over at Cas, Dean saw him looking at it too.

“That was a wild night,” he ventured, wondering if talking about the only common ground they had might help them move forward.

“It was,” nodded Cas.

“Exciting.”

“Yes.”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted. Cas turned to him then and looked at him, staring deeply into his eyes unapologetically. “I think about you,” Dean added.

For a moment, he thought Cas was going to kiss him. Instead he turned away and looked back out over the grounds. They had crested and were descending now.

“It was a long time ago,” muttered Cas.

“Yeah.”

When they passed the platform at the bottom of the rotation, the ride kicked in and picked up speed. His hair blew in the breeze as they flew upwards and crested again. He found himself smiling despite all that was wrong and as they dipped to the ground again, Cas smiled too. Grinning like a child at Christmas, Dean asked, “Do you ever do anything crazy like that now? Break the rules?”

“Nope,” he replied stiffly, “The penalty for last time was sufficient to keep me from breaking more rules.”

The bit of joy that had crept into Dean as he’d watched Cas smile bled out of him now and left him cold in his seat. “Come away with me,” he said boldly, not even thinking it through.

Cas looked over at him. The sadness he carried seemed part of him because it had been there even when they’d met as boys. Dean wanted to wipe it away – bring back the smile that he knew was hiding deep down.

“Where?” Cas asked him flatly.

“Who cares?” he shouted wildly, smiling into the breeze. “Who fucking cares, Cas? Just leave with me. We’ll figure it out.”

Unexpectedly, Dean found himself crushed back into the metal wall of their basket. Cas grasped fists into his shirt and crushed their lips together. Dean was shocked, and it took a moment to comprehend what was happening. Their basket rocked from the shift in their weight as they flew through the air, wind whipping their hair, the sounds of the carnival blurring around them as the giant wheel spun. Dean managed to relax into the kiss, opening his lips to Cas, and for one glorious moment he didn’t give a damn if they were seen.

Both were breathing hard when they parted, exhilarated, and Dean found himself laughing as he considered how reckless he’d been. And how happy.

When they disembarked from the ride, they walked back towards the entrance together. But, being back in a crowd of people, Deans bravery faded. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid to hold hands with Cas for fear of the reaction people would have. Knowing what his life would be like if his secret were out, and how quickly he would be outed with even the smallest of mistakes, Dean walked side by side with Cas without touching. When the front gate came into sight, Castiel stopped dead in his tracks.

Dean turned back for his friend and pulled him out of the crowd. They ducked between two booths. Standing next to a generator, they had to talk louder to be heard.

“Don’t do this,” he said, knowing that Cas was afraid to leave, “I know it’s scary but it’ll be good. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“I want to,” said Cas, not looking him in the eye, “but I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” he said firmly. “Yes you fucking can.”

“No Dean. You don’t understand. Hopefully, you never will.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means.”

Dean could see resolution in those big blue eyes. Cas had decided. He was staying and he was certain of his decision.

“Don’t do this,” Dean pleaded again, “I just got you back. We’ve hardly had an hour.”

“No Dean. My place is here. Yours is not. Please don’t come back here looking for me again.”

“But I –

“No Dean. Don’t come back here for me. You wont like what you find. Please Dean, promise me.”

“No fucking way. You’re coming with me, Cas.”

Cas stood quietly, looking at the ground. When he raised his chin a moment later, his face was a bit lighter. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, lips curving into a flicker of a smile, “Let’s have an adventure together. Just one more before we say good-bye.”

Dean’s heart broke a little just hearing the word. “Don’t say that,” he croaked out, “Don’t say good-bye.”

“There’s nothing else to say,” he countered firmly. “But I have a wish. And if it could be granted, then I think I could be satisfied… return to this life and live it. Will you do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” he said honestly, “anything.”

“Okay then. I’ll let you take me. We’ll leave here and we’ll do whatever you want. But you have to bring me back before closing. And you have to agree to say good-bye then.”

Dean considered it, but he didn’t like this one bit. He wanted to take Castiel away from this lonely life and never bring him back. The thought of walking out of here with his friend was enticing. But the thought of bringing him back and saying good-bye was horrid. He didn’t know if he could do it.

“Okay,” he agreed, knowing it was the best offer he’d get. “Back by closing.”

Cas looked around to be sure no one was watching and then leaned in to peck Dean on the cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered against Dean’s ear.

Not trusting his voice, Dean nodded instead. He turned back towards the concourse but then felt a hand on his arm, tugging him.

“Not that way,” said Cas, turning away from the crowd, “this is an adventure, remember?”

Dean followed behind Cas as he moved into the darkness that lay beyond the pulsing lights and whimsical sounds of the carnival. A few dozen steps and they were walking in tall, wild grass. The moon was nothing but a sliver and in the darkness their progress was slow. Reminiscent of their walk through the meadow with Sammy as young boys, Dean found them arcing around the edges of the carnival. This time, however, Cas had brought them to the parking lot.

Dean led Cas to the Impala and was surprised to hear Cas whisper, “I remember this car.”

“Yeah, it was my dad’s then. It’s mine now.”

“It suits you,” smiled Cas as Dean leaned in to unlock the passenger door for him.

“Thanks.”

Dean rolled his window down before backing out of his space. The soft sound of crickets chirping was drown out by the radio and as he pulled out of the lot, Dean looked over at Cas and asked where he wanted to go.

The guy only shrugged as if he didn’t care.

“C’mon,” he prompted, “You’re the one that had a wish, remember? What is it?”

Cas smiled shyly at him and said, “You.”

“Me?”

“Dean, I just wanted some time with you.  Away from… well, alone. Alone with you - that’s my wish.”

Dean felt his chin quiver and steeled himself to keep from letting sadness wash over him. He only had a few hours before he had to bring Castiel back. Logic told him that he should use the time to entice Cas into changing his mind. Unfortunately, he knew the boy well enough to understand that it wasn’t possible. Cas would do what he thought he must.

In place of the brilliant ideas that weren’t coming to mind, Dean opted to do what he loved best. Drive. He turned up the music a little. Everclear was on the radio singing _Wonderful_. Looking over at Cas he watched him lean forward and roll down his window. It was impossible not to smile when he put his elbow out the window, resting his arm there, and relaxed into the ride.

The town was largely deserted as they cruised around, even though it was a Friday night. All the teenagers were at the carnival. So were the parents with young kids. There was hardly anyone parked at the grocery, the bowling alley, the diner or the drive through. When they passed the city park, Dean thought of stopping; maybe pulling Cas into the gazebo where they could just sit and talk for a while. It was a nice night. But when he came around the block, he saw his father’s patrol car parked near the pavilion. Nothing could ruin this night faster than John Winchester, Dean was sure of it.

Hopefully, John was sleeping in his car and hadn’t seen the Impala go by. Turning onto another side street, Dean pulled up to the curb at the school. The grounds were shared by several buildings, the largest of which was the high school. Adjacent were the elementary and junior high which were crowded into a single structure. There was also a maintenance shed and a bus barn. Sandwiched between the elementary and high school was a small playground. He turned off the car and got out. Cas followed.

The night was quiet and still and at the top of a towering pole, the flag barely moved. With the exception of cicadas humming, it was as quiet as a grave. But even here, where they seemed so alone, Dean didn’t take Cas’ hand in his. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder over to the playground, the backs of their hands brushing.

Dean seated himself on a swing and motioned for Cas to do the same. “Where are we?” he asked.

“My old school. Sammy still goes here,” he added, pointing to the appropriate building.

“You have good memories here?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Mostly good anyway. Nothing’s perfect.”

Cas nodded agreement and relaxed into the swing, keeping his feet anchored but flexing his legs to rock back and forth like a pendulum. Dean found himself doing the same. “We moved around a lot when we were little. My old man just couldn’t keep it together. Something would always happen, right about the time I started getting my bearings, and then we’d have to leave town because he couldn’t show his face there anymore.”

Cas didn’t speak, but Dean could feel him watching closely. Those magnetic eyes were heavy on him. “Well, anyway, we came here when I was in fourth grade. I didn’t bother making any friends… I mean, why would I right? I knew we wouldn’t be here long.” Taking a deep breath, Dean forced himself to turn his head and make eye contact with Castiel. “It’s funny isn’t it? How you just kind of get used to things – even when they’re shitty. Somehow, ya just kind of learn how to live with it. Live through it.”

Cas was nodding along with him and Dean knew that they were on the same page. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of things Cas had gotten used to or learned to tolerate in his life. But Dean wanted him to know that it didn’t have to be permanent. So he continued talking.

“Ya know Cas, when I met you I’d been here two years. That was the longest we’d ever stayed anywhere that I could remember. I started getting hopeful after that. I thought we might stay… that maybe dad had finally… well, he liked being a cop, let’s put it that way. I think he felt respectable enough when he wore the uniform and drove the car.

“The city was shorthanded and they had an agreement with the unemployment office to pay for training – that’s how dad got on the force. He had to clean up for a while and it wasn’t easy for any of us. But the point is, by the time I realized it was okay to put down roots, I’d been here for years and years. I’d missed so much. I was so used to things being the way they were that I hardly noticed when they changed. But they did. I started feelin better. Made some friends. Tried to pay attention in school.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you Dean.”

“It did I guess. I mean, it’s not a ‘happily ever after’ like they show in the movies, but things can change Cas. They did for me, and they can for you.”

“So, now that your father has settled here and you’ve built a life for yourself, are you happy?”

“Well, like I said, nothings perfect. He’s still a mean damn drunk. He’s a shitty dad on his best days. And once in a while, he scares the fuck outta me. He’ll start missing shifts and his job will be hangin by a string… or he’ll have to get carried out of the bar and people will see... I understand now that he’s never gonna be what I want him to be. So, even though we’re settled here, I still worry all the time.”

Dean hadn’t realized he’d become agitated until the squawk of the metal chains drew his attention to how heavily he was rocking in his seat. Working to keep control, he added, “I’m a grown man now Cas. But if my dad had to pack up and move, I’d have to go too because of Sammy. I don’t like it, that he needs me like that. Hell Sammy fuckin hates it too - hates having to rely on me instead of dad. But that’s just how it is.”

“You’re trapped,” said Cas. It wasn’t a question.

“Kind of,” he conceded, “but not for much longer. Sammy’s gonna graduate next year. He’ll go off to college. Once that happens, I’ll be free. I can get my own place and live my own life. Then, when dad fucks up, he’ll only be hurting himself. I won’t have to take care of things for anyone else anymore and I can be free.”

“Free…” breathed Cas, closing his eyes. Dean didn’t miss that he said the word as if it here holy. Almost like a plea to the heavens. Cas tipped his head back and pulled his feet up from the ground. Dean watched as he swung, eyes open now but locked on the starry sky above them. He was breathtaking.

When they got in the car, the noise of it starting up cut through the fragile peace. Music poured from the speakers and Nelly Furtado was singing about being a bird – no home, no soul. It wasn’t really his kind of music, but he let it play as he drove them away from the playground.

The lights of the diner were on, but it was empty. Dean asked, “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Ok.”

As they turned west, the music on the radio changed and suddenly the car filled with bubble gum music and Brittany was singing _Oops, I did it again_. “Gotta draw the line somewhere,” he joked, pushing a cassette tape back into the player. It was still the Led Zeppelin he’d been listening to this afternoon. Overwhelmed by the urge to play _All of My Love_ for Cas, Dean hit rewind.

As he navigated the empty streets, Dean was working to commit this night to memory. He tried to notice all the details – the color of Cas’ clothes, the shape of his face, the way he looked riding comfortably in the front seat, all of it set to the soundtrack of guitar, synthesizer, and the dynamic voice of Robert Plant.

“Where are we?” asked Cas when Dean pulled to the curb again.

“The police station,” he answered, “This is where I work.”

“Do you like it? The work?”

“Most days. It can get a little repetitive sometimes, but it’s good.”

“Do you arrest people?”

“Sometimes. To be honest, it’s mostly paperwork and riding around on patrol. We write tickets and respond to complaints, but it’s pretty quiet around here.”

“I can see that.”

Dean burst out laughing, “It’s not always _this_ quiet. It’s just dead tonight because everybody’s at the carnival.”

Silence descended on them after that. It was as if saying the word ‘carnvial’ had brought them back to the front gates, even though they were miles away.

“Wanna see where I live?” Dean ventured.

“Yes.”

By the time they arrived at Dean’s house, the tape was almost over and _I’m Gonna Crawl_ was reaching its end. Dean turned the ignition off and suddenly the only song was the insects humming in the trees.

“Home sweet home,” he joked, looking around at the overgrown grass he’d not gotten around to mowing and the front door that had been crooked for as long has he could remember. Cas crawled out, the car door creaking as he closed it. They stood looking at the house from the street for a moment before Dean started moving. When they entered the kitchen, Dean went straight for the fridge while Cas floated into the space and began to look around.

“Want something to drink?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Water.”

Shrugging, Dean put a cup to the faucet and filled it. He added ice from the freezer and carried it over to Cas who was examining the place like he was in a museum. Dean followed along behind him, flicking on lights as Cas ghosted through the doorway to the living room and cautiously stepped around the mess that littered the floor.  He looked at the few things that hung on the walls, mostly framed school pictures of himself and Sammy at varying ages. There was no rhyme or reason to their decor, aside from the obvious fact that John hadn’t put much effort into it.

Dean took the lead when they moved into the hall, passing Sam’s room and heading for his own. He pushed the door open and walked in, leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp. “This is me,” he said as he motioned for Cas to enter.

“No, it’s not,” whispered Cas, taking in the look of the place.

Dean knew his friend was right as he looked around the bedroom, his most personal and intimate space, seeing it through the eyes of someone who knew him like no one else. Above his bed was a poster of Tawny Kitaen wearing a white lace teddy and crawling on all fours. Next to it was another, the one from the White Snake video where she was writhing on the hood of a Jag. Everywhere Dean looked he saw nothing but props. Pictures of wrestlers like Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior, supermodels like Claudia Schiffer and Elle Macpherson. All of it was dated, hung years ago. He’d plastered the walls of his room with the things he thought made him look normal when he’d been anything but. If this room had reflected his true tastes, the dominating poster would be of Harrison Ford.

Dean was ashamed when he met eyes with Cas. He’d wanted to show his friend hope; a glimpse of the world outside of carny life, one that could be his if he wanted it. But now, Dean could see that all he was showing Cas was his own prison cell.

“I’m not gonna be like this forever,” he said softly, “I’m gonna get out of here. Live my own life. It’s just another year, man, one damn year and I can put this place in my rear view mirror.”

“I know you will,” said Cas, reaching out and laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I want you to come with me,” he whispered, watching Castiel’s eyes in the lamplight.

Cas never looked away. His eyes were intent and focused as he asked, “Do you really want to spend the little bit of time we have, trying to pretend that we can have more?”

“But we can –

“No. Dean, we can’t. I’ve told you what I can give you. We have tonight and that’s all.”

Dean nodded, working to hold back the tears that had sprung up in his eyes. They wet his lashes, but thankfully they didn’t fall. And then, Cas was kissing him again.

Dean’s body, with many years spent wanting what he couldn’t have, betrayed him completely. In his heart, he wanted to lay Cas gently down and make sweet love to him. Sadly, his body was eager and unashamed of it. His hands, against his will, grew greedy and rough. The dick between his legs swelled up like it would burst, his body pumping it full to the point of aching. Lust surged through him like oil through an engine. He clawed at the clothes that separated them and jerked at the zipper of his jeans to free his fattened cock. Thankfully, Cas seemed to feel like he did, joining him in his frenzy as they stepped clumsily out of their jeans and fell into the bed.

Dean shoved his hand down inside the elastic of Castiel’s boxers and moaned into their deep kiss as his hand curled around the length of his boy’s cock. It felt right in his hand and he tightened his grip on it, frustrated that he couldn’t easily slide his palm up and down on it. Tearing away from Cas’ mouth, Dean twisted around urgently and tugged at those boxers in an effort to be rid of them. Soon they were both laughing out loud as they shucked off the last of their undergarments.

Dean welcomed the heat of Cas when he laid down on top of Dean and he sucked in a ragged breath at the feel of another man’s dick sliding up alongside his own. “Yes,” he whispered into Cas’ neck before he opened his mouth and began sucking there. Cas moaned as Dean clamped down harder and his hands reached down to grasp the soft butt cheeks that rested between his parted knees.

“Oh Dean,” Cas murmured, “I’ve dreamt of this.”

“Me too Cas,” he admitted easily, “I never stopped wanting you.”

“Are we going to fuck like they did?” he asked, seeming to refer to the men they’d spied in Mr. Crowley’s tent years ago.

“No Cas,” he said firmly, stilling his body for a second to look Castiel in the eye. “It’s different for us.”

“What do you want us to do Dean?” asked Cas, his eyes tender in the lamplight.

“I’m yours,” he answered, “Til you leave me, I’m yours. I’ll do anything you want.”

Dean closed his eyes then, as Cas leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Touch me there, Dean, in the place no one else does.”

Groaning as he reached his hands back down to Cas’ ass cheeks, Dean kept his eyes closed as Cas nibbled at his neck and planted kisses from ear to shoulder and back again. As he laid there on the bottom, he massaged Cas’ ass cheeks and wiggled his fingers ever closer to the hot, sweaty cleft between them.

“Do it Dean,” encouraged his friend, “I want you to do it.”

Dean felt his cock pulse and grow even larger as his fingers found the bottom of that crack and traced along it. His breath caught in his throat as they bumbled over the pucker of an entrance and his body stiffened from head to toe as he imagined pushing himself deep into that tiny little hole.

He felt over it again and his finger pressed down, tempting that tight muscle to pop open and let him in. When it fluttered under his finger tip he garbled an unintelligible word and his back arched off the bed in pleasure. Then, with the motion of coming back down, his cock rubbed alongside Cas’ again and he felt globs of pre-come leak from his tip and wet the skin of his belly.

Cas was writhing on him now, their tummy’s pressing together with their junk squished between. Fluid oozed out of them both and spread out over their skin as they rubbed together. Unable to hold back, Dean lined up his finger and prepared to press it inside of Cas for real.

“Do it Dean,” Cas whispered in encouragement.

“It’ll hurt,” he worried outloud. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Don’t care,” muttered Cas, dropping his head to Dean’s chest and sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Dean knew he needed something slick to ease the way. He’d used a few different things when experimenting on himself and briefly considered going to the kitchen and coming back with vegetable oil before he had a stroke of genius and retracted his left hand. He slid it between their bellies and coated it with their spend, coming away with wet fingers and palm.

Then he peeled Cas’ cheeks apart again with his other hand and began rubbing the pucker with his wet digits. Cas seemed to love it. He arched his back and thrust his ass upward toward Dean’s fingers and moaned as he sucked hard on Dean’s tit. Feeling the man so eager brought another swell of desire through him and he throbbed between his legs as he finally pushed is middle finger down into the tight ring of muscle he’d been toying with.

As he sank in to the second knuckle, Cas called out his name and came. Squirts of warm cum spread over his tip and as he rocked his hips, it spread around. Their dicks were sliding together easily now, but Cas’ went soft too soon.

“Don’t,” begged Cas when Dean made to extract his finger.

“Can I put my dick in?” he asked, “Just a little?”

“Oh yes,” sighed Cas, lifting his weight from Dean and scrambling to the side.

They rearranged themselves on the bed, Cas face down and Dean between his spread legs. Dean kissed his left butt cheek and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

Turns out there’s no such thing as pride at a time like this. Thank fuck nobody else was home. Dean fumbled to the kitchen naked. He hated that he had no lube, but this would do. He knew it would because he’d used it many times before - on himself. He took the bottle of canola oil and returned to his room.

Dean shut the door behind him and climbed back up between Cas’ legs. The boy was still breathing heavily, but he looked more relaxed now. Dean smiled as he thought of how much he liked thinking of Cas as ‘his boy’. Then, he poured too much oil into his palm and reached forward to dribble it over Cas’ crack. Cas moaned and wiggled his hips from side to side as Dean spread his cheeks and began teasing his fingers along the crack.

“Yeah,” moaned Cas beneath him, “Yeah Dean, it’s so good.”

Smiling as he teased, Dean traced his slippery fingers around the edges of the hole. He made soft, tickling circles around the edges, flicked at the center, managed to pull a breathy ‘please’ from Cas’ lips before he finally pushed in with his middle finger in again.

“Cas” he whispered as he felt the tightness on his finger all the way down to his groin.

His boy was moving now, humping into the mattress as Dean slid his finger in and out. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the swollen red rim as he sank in and pulled back out. Soon he was pushing in a second finger. As he pushed them in, he watched closely enough to see the pleated skin spread out - the hole stretching wider to accommodate him. He wondered how smooth that shiny red ring would be when his cock was pushing inside. Considering it had him pulling almost all the way out and lining up his ring finger.

“More Dean,” whispered Cas, ass held high in the air – expectant.

“Oh baby,” he sighed as he watched his three fingers push in. He could feel the spasms as the muscle tried to relax and allow the stretch and when he’d pushed in as far as he could, Cas started humping the mattress again, his oily cheeks glistening. It was hypnotic to watch… so erotic… and Dean was still leaking from his rock-hard cock as he played. He was throbbing between his legs, experiencing anticipation the likes of which he’d never known before.

This wasn’t the first time he’d be putting his dick in some one’s ass. But it was the _very_ first time he’d be doing it without wishing he was doing it to someone else. Extracting his fingers from Cas, he dumped more oil into his hand and then set the bottle to the floor. Rising up off the mattress, Dean wrapped his hands around his own dick, spreading oil over it and moaning in pleasure as he finally began to stroke. Running his hands over his shaft eased some of the pressure that had been relentlessly building there. His tip had been leaking for a long time and a thin string of jizz dangled from the head of his cock. Holding himself firmly in hand, Dean maneuvered to sink down on the bed, lining up his shaft with Cas’ waiting entrance.

To his surprise, Cas snaked his hands back and pulled his cheeks apart. Dean had to work to keep from blowing his load as he watched someone present their most vulnerable place to him… solely for the purpose of letting him plunder it.

The swollen head of his cock looked huge as it approached Cas’ twitching, reddened opening. The bud was warm and welcoming on his tip and he felt tingles break out all over his body as he rolled the bulbous cap of his penis in tiny circles over his lovers rim. He knew this felt amazing to Cas because the boy was panting now, still holding his ass in the air expectantly. His fingertips were white where they gripped his cheeks and held his ass open. Dean pushed forward then, watching himself enter as he felt the initial resistance and then the little pop as he slid past the rings of muscle. Then, it was impossible to keep his eyes open anymore as he sank the rest of the way in.

Cas let go of his cheeks and twisted his fingers into Dean’s sheets. “Don’t stop,” he groaned, “I want you all the way. I want you inside me.”

They both slid down into the bedding as Dean bottomed out and he laid there for a long moment, afraid to move for fear he’d cum and it would be over. In the quiet, he realized that he was panting now too. They both were. Remembering the gentleness with which he’d wanted to treat Castiel earlier, Dean returned to it now. He let his body relax on top of his lover and rested his head along Cas’ shoulder blade, whispering that he’d never forget this moment for as long as he lived.

Buried deep inside Cas, laying on him from head to toe, Dean began pressing firm kisses into the boys back at the base of his neck and up into his hair. He inhaled the scent of it and then slowly pulled back, easing his cock back out of Cas. They both exhaled at the same time, and then Dean rocked forward again, sliding back home into his lover. The bed shifted under them as Dean fell into a slow and easy rhythm of pulling out a little and rolling back in. Soon the bed was rocking under them as Dean fucked into Cas, progressively faster and faster. He came too soon, with a blinding orgasm that dropped him back down on Cas like a sack of potatoes.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that he must’ve blacked out for a minute because his dick was soft. Between his pelvis and Cas’ plump butt was a sticky film that was starting to itch.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” came the muffled response.

Dean carefully extracted himself and the two were able to rearrange on the bed again. This time, they laid face to face. Dean had to chuckle. Having never cum a second time when he was fucked, Cas was still hard. Caring nothing for the lethargy that had come over him, Dean shuffled down the bed. He thought nothing of the stickiness or the smell and he took Cas’ cock into his mouth hungrily. The twang of dried cum was unpleasant, but he soon forgot it as his mouth memorized the shape and feel of Cas. He licked and sucked tenderly, affection flooding through him in the afterglow of amazing sex.

“What is it?” Cas asked when he suddenly pulled off.

“Cas,” he said softly, not making eye contact, “I wanna feel you inside me too.”

He may not have been looking, but he could _feel_ the smile on Cas’ face. They fumbled again to change positions in Dean’s tiny bed. Dean was glad to be face down for this part, feeling a bit self-conscious about what he was about to do and glad to not have to meet eyes with Cas while he did it.

Trying his best to relax, Dean let out a sigh and folded his arms under his head in restful position. Behind him, Cas had the bottle. The first touch of slick fingers to his ass sent a shiver skittering up his spine. He let Cas do as he pleased, keeping silent with the exception of an occasional moan when those clever fingers stumbled upon some secret place of pleasure that Dean hadn't even known he had.

At first, the feeling of fingers inside of him left him uncertain. But soon, Cas’ experimentations lit a fire in his belly that he hadn’t expected. Dean felt his body respond. As Cas played with his deepest and most private place, Dean found himself getting turned on again, hungry for more. He felt no shame in letting Cas see his eagerness as he writhed under his lovers hands. After all, Cas hadn’t hidden his desires from Dean. There was no need.

The feeling of being stretched over purposeful fingers stirred excitement in him and made him eager to do dirty things. There was a swirling sensation in his belly and a buzzing, tingling feeling from the waist down that seemed to rev up like an engine every time Cas’ finger touched certain places inside of him. Then, when the moment of penetration came, it was overwhelming. The act itself was lewd and carnal. Salacious. A fat cock, pushing into him, spreading him wide open, stretching his hole to its limits and violating him in the most delicious way. But, under the thrill of that, the act was also tender and sweet. It was, he realized, the complete giving over of himself to Cas. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he thought of how fitting it was to give this to Castiel and he wanted the man to know what it meant to him.

As though he could read Dean’s mind, Cas laid down on him and covered Dean's entire body with his own, much the same way Dean had done to Cas. It was comforting. Then, Cas took Dean’s hand in his own and threaded their fingers together. Dean squeezed the hand he was holding tightly and then said, “Cas, I want to tell you something.”

“What is it Dean?” Cas whispered into his skin.

“All my life, I will never do this again with anyone else.”

“Oh Dean,” sighed Cas, pressing a heavy kiss into his hair.

“I mean it,” he added, keeping his eyes closed as he made the promise, “When you’re an old man and you’re thinking back on your life, I hope you remember me. And I hope it'll make you happy to know that you’re the only person I’ve ever let inside me like this.”

Cas kissed him reverently between his shoulder blades and then began to move in him. Dean never really got hard again, but the experience was enjoyable in its deeper meaning. He thought of it as an offering – something he could give to Cas who deserved so much more. It seemed that this was all he had to give. Himself. And he gave it gladly, one tear escaping against his will and soaking into the sheet.

It wasn’t easy remembering the real world when they’d finished. But the clock radio on Dean’s nightstand wouldn’t be ignored as it crept closer to midnight. They begrudgingly crawled out of their cocoon and began pulling their clothes back on. Dean gave Cas a clean pair of underwear and found one for himself. They embraced one last time before they left the comfort of Dean’s room and headed back out into the night. Back to Mr. Crowley’s.

Dean didn’t turn on any music in the car. The sound of the wind and the motor and the tires on the road were an empty tune that matched Dean’s inner feelings as he prepared to say his good-bye to Castiel.

“What is this place?” Cas asked him when he pulled to the curb.

“My church,” Dean answered, “St. Michaels.”

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted you to see this place, Cas. I wanted you to know where it was. The Pastor here, Pastor Jim, is a friend. He’s been good to us… helps my dad… helps us.” Over in the passenger seat, Cas was waiting for Dean to finish. But it wasn’t easy to put the words in the right order. “Cas, if you ever want to find me, you can come here. Pastor Jim will always know where I am and how to get in touch with me. If you ever change your mind and want to see me again but I’ve moved, then just come here. Jim will take care of you until I can come for you.”

Cas nodded, looking past Dean at the building. The little steeple at the top had a soft amber light glowing in its tiny window. Aside from that, the building was dark.

“I’ll always come for you Cas. Whether it’s tomorrow or next year or ten years from now. If you ever want me, hell, even if you just need help, you come to me. And if you can’t find me, you come here. Got it?”

“Yes Dean,” his friend nodded, “And thank you.”

With that, Dean pulled out into the deserted street and drove back to the carnival. He had to park in a different spot when he returned, though he doubted his brother would notice. As they climbed out of the car and stared walking, Cas said, “If you see her, don’t talk to her again. Just find your brother and go home, okay?”

“Don’t talk to who?” he asked, already having forgotten about Lydia.

“The girl from before,” Cas clarified. “In fact, don’t talk to any girls. Don’t let anyone convince you to win them a prize.”

“Okay,” Dean conceded. He didn’t understand why Cas was talking to him about girls when he knew so well that he didn’t need to be jealous of them. But, rather than discuss it further, he pulled Castiel to him and wrapped him into a hug. This time, Cas hugged him back.

When they parted, Dean started heading for the gate until he felt Cas tug on his arm. Turning, he saw Cas coming in for a kiss. He glanced around and didn’t see anyone, so he tipped his head down and let it happen. The meeting of their swollen lips was soft and chaste. “I can’t go in this way,” reminded Cas when they pulled apart, “You go ahead. I have to go the long way.”

Dean pulled him close again, kissing him more deeply. When they pulled apart for the last time, Cas whispered, “I’ll be dreaming of you…” and then he turned toward the darkness beyond the parking lot and was gone.

“Dammit,” cursed Dean, feeling a piece of himself pull away and follow Cas into the dark.

He stood there for a while just watching the place where Castiel had disappeared from view. But when a breeze swept over the lot, the first one all night, it brought with it the scent of rain. Dean resumed walking toward the entrance. He showed the stamp on his hand to get back onto the midway and then began looking for his brother in the crowd. Suddenly exhausted, Dean plunked down at a picnic table near a cluster of food trucks and figured he’d wait for Sam to walk by.

It wasn’t long before heavy rolls of thunder came rumbling in and the pending storm sent most of the guests heading for the gates. As people moved past him, Dean eventually saw his brother striding by and jumped up to walk beside him. He was greeted warmly, but largely ignored in favor of Sam’s new girl until they reached the exit.

“I’ll just get the car,” said Dean, giving the two a moment alone to say good-night. They seemed happy to let him. As he was crossing the lot again, the first fat drops of rain spattered on his bare arms. By the time he was climbing into the car it was pouring. He backed out and looped around the lot. It was made of dirt and was quickly turning to mud. When he pulled up near the admission gate, he saw the little brunette darting away from Sam and his brother stepping up to the car.

“Damn,” he cursed as he climbed in, “That came up fast.”

“I know, but at least it rained close to closing and not at 7:00, right?

“Yeah, guess so. Awesome night huh?”

“That it was,” Dean agreed. “You gonna see that little minx again?”

“I think so," answered Sam with a strange look on his face. "What about you? I didn’t see you for most of the night, did you run off with some hot piece of ass?”

“Somethin like that,” he answered. He didn’t like saying the words because it felt like he was selling short what had happened between him and Cas. But, he had to get back to real life. And in real life, Dean had a reputation to uphold. He was straight. He was a playboy. He was Dean fucking Winchester.

It took a while to get home, following a long line of cars back towards town in the storm. Sam seemed anxious beside him, fidgeting a lot. But that wasn’t really unusual.

“Dean,” he said, “I’ve got something I need to get off my chest.”

Tired as he was, Dean had no inclination to have the heart-to-heart that Sam seemed to be launching into. But, the fight they’d had needed a resolution. If they were to be stuck in traffic anyway, why not get it over with, right? So, he waited to hear what Sam had to say.

“I need you to understand something Dean. I don’t have a mother. I mean, at least you’ve got some memories of her. I’ve got fucking nothing. Just a few old pictures.”

Dean nodded. He understood, but didn’t really see what bearing that had on their relationship now.

“I don’t have a father either,” Sam continued, “at least not one that anybody would want to have. I mean, the man is a disappointment in every way. But even that I can deal with,” said Sam bitterly, “But ya know what Dean? I don’t have a brother either.”

Dean turned to face Sam then, looking across the bench seat at him in the dark as the windshield wipers beat out a rhythm. Sam’s face was angry. Angry as Dean had ever seen him when he continued, “The only brother I’ve got, isn’t a brother at all. ‘Cause he’s too damn busy tryin to be my father.”

Dean gaped at him, taking his eyes of the road longer than he should have. When he returned his gaze to the taillights ahead of him, they were _way_ to close and he had to hit the brakes hard to avoid a collision. Sam didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Look Dean, I get it okay? I know I’m lucky to have you lookin out for me. I’m not stupid, I see how things are. I know who buys the food and washes the clothes. I know you’re the one who makes sure I have what I need. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You know that, right? I want us to be brothers, Dean. Do you know how fucked up it is that I’m getting lectures about my grades and stuff from someone who’s only, like, four years older than me?”

The question was purely hypothetical so Dean didn’t bother answering. He resigned himself to waiting while Sam vented. “Dean, life here sucks. It doesn’t matter how much you try to cover for dad and take care of things for him. Life sucks in our house Dean. I can’t bring friends over because I’m ashamed of the way we live! I can’t bring a girl around because she’d run away screaming! I die a little bit every day in that house Dean, and I have got to get outta here.”

Tears had been threatening all day and now, as anger and frustration set in, they presented again. He worked to control his face so Sam wouldn’t see it. The car grew quiet as he did. The long line of cars started moving again and as Dean turned left onto their street, he breathed deeply and tried to address his brother.

It was no use, though. Sam didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. “Look Dean, I know that you’re gonna do what you think is right. And I’m sorry if you hate me for this. But I hate our house. I hate the way we live and I hate this stupid town. I’ve _got_ to get out of here,” finished Sam. Then he immediately changed his wording. “I’m _going_ to get out of here.”

“Okay Sammy,” he replied, at a loss for what else there was to say.

“Once I'm out of here, I’m fucking _gone_. And I’m _never_ coming back. I’m gonna go live the life I deserve. I’m gonna have a perfect life and never look back. And I hope you do the same.”

Pulling up to the curb, Dean nodded stiffly to acknowledge the things his brother had said and then turned off the car. When they climbed out, Sam made a run for the door, but Dean didn’t. He took his time and let the rain soak him. Heavy in his wet clothes, he let the torrent rush over him and tried to imagine that it had some kind of cleansing power.

It didn’t.

In his room Dean tugged off his waterlogged boots and peeled out of his clothes. He was damp and naked as he crawled between the sheets. The scent of sex still lingered over his bed and Castiel’s strong presence was still palpable. Alone in his room, Dean finally gave up the fight and let his tears fall.

 

       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for your comments :)


	3. A Dirty Deed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make sure and say a proper thank-you to Destiella, who has generously agreed to beta the remaining chapters of this story. I think it will be much easier to read now. This is our first time working on a project together and I'm thrilled with how it's going so far!

 

Dean was comfortable in the recliner, dozing lightly while a re-run of Family Guy played quietly on the television. When he heard the front door, his ears perked up. Listening to his father move about in the kitchen, Dean glanced down at the envelope in his hand. John lumbered into the room and headed for the couch. “Hey dad,” Dean ventured.

“Dean,” acknowledged John with a nod as he settled into his spot.

“We got a letter from Sammy today.”

John grunted and took a swig from his bottle. “May as well read it to me then.”

Dean stared at his father angrily, always bitter when witnessing his father’s apathy. Ever since they’d gotten the very first letter from Sam, John had been the picture of casual indifference. Dean had been flooded with relief to finally have some word from his little brother. He’d read that letter over and over again. It had been good to learn that his brother was actually doing well. Also, it had been vindicating to realize that the letter was addressed only to him and not to their father.

Dean had left the letter laying on the table when he’d gone to work that night, knowing John would see it when he came home from his shift. He honestly hoped the man would be stung by rejection when he saw “Dear Dean” in the greeting line while the word “dad” remained suspiciously absent. Dean had wanted that bitter medicine for his father, a man who’d lived selfishly and been neglectful of his sons. But, when Dean had come home from work the following morning, the letter had been exactly where he’d left it. Undisturbed. When prompted, John had admitted to seeing the letter.

“Don’t you wanna read it?” Dean had gasped in disbelief.

“Not really,” John had muttered without looking up from the TV, “He’s obviously not dead in a ditch somewhere if he sent a damn letter. The rest is just details.”

Dean had picked up that letter and carried it to the living room, insisting that his father was a bastard if he couldn’t even be bothered to read the first communication they’d had from Sam in months. John hadn’t let that slide either. He’d vaulted up from his seat and lunged at Dean, fists clenched into the collar of his uniform as he growled, “You’re the one who lost the kid Dean, so you read the fuckin’ letter.”

“I didn’t lose him,” Dean had shouted in response, “He ran the fuck away. From you!”

Sadly, Dean’s angry words didn’t cause contemplation or remorse in his father. Instead, they had somehow incited John to violence. As he moved around the room, dodging blows, Dean was shouting through tears of frustration, “Aren’t you even curious about where he went? What he’s been doing?”

Johns red face had been twisted with anger as he spat, “I don’t give a shit! He’s the one that split, not me! Let the fuckin’ kid see what it’s really like out there… out in the real world. He’ll be crawlin’ back here in no time.”

The two had spent the better part of an hour trading both physical and emotional blows while they pushed the blame back and forth between them. By the time Pastor Jim had knocked on the door, there was broken glass to clean up, a turned over chair, and the evidence of violence marked into their skin.

“Bobby called from the station,” Pastor Jim had explained when pushed his way inside. “Neighbors are calling in complaints about the shouting.”

Jim had separated them and then sat with John while Dean went to his room and tried to get his temper under control. By the end of the day, Jim had managed to patch up both father and son, counsel them, and promise to check in soon. He’d left looking tired to his core – as if perhaps he’d bitten off more than he could chew when he involved himself with the Winchesters.

Since that first letter, there had been many more. Sometimes the envelopes would be thick with letters that rambled on for pages and pages about all that was going on in Sam’s life. Other times, there would just be a few lines scrawled on the back of a postcard. Usually those kind of greetings came from desirable travel destinations and carried messages like, “Hey Dean, just dropping a line from sunny Florida. Spring break is the bomb.”

All told, Sam had been gone for a little over three years. In all that time, to Dean’s knowledge, John hadn’t bothered to read a single letter. After the first year, Dean had taken it upon himself to read them aloud and as time went by John had seemed to get used to it.

Now, here they were in the winter of 2004. John tipped back his bottle and took a long pull. Noticing what Dean was watching on TV, John looked over critically and said, “This shit again? Aren’t you a little old for cartoons, boy?”

“It’s Family Guy,” retorted Dean. “It’s not made for kids.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’ better on,” sulked John, obviously unwilling to get up and retrieve the remote. “Now, you gonna read that damn letter or not?”

“Like you give a fuck.”

“Read it or don’t,” barked John. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

There was no point in bickering. Dean was going to read the letter to his father and they both knew it. With a sigh, he began reading aloud:

_“Dear Dean,_

_This will be short because it’s finals week and there’s lots to do. It’s been cold this week too, so I’m getting anxious to finish my classes and blow town. You know yesterday it was only 28 degrees? So much for California being the land of perpetual summer. Anyway, Ruby and I are planning to spend the holidays with some friends in Jamaica this year. I would’ve preferred going back to Mexico but she twisted my arm. You know how it is._

_Honestly Dean, I don’t know how you keep up with all those women. I can barely handle one. But, in my defense, she’s a handful._

_Gotta run, I have studies to ignore!_

_Stay warm,_

_Love, Sam”_

The room was quiet for a minute or two after he stopped reading, the name ‘Sam’ hanging heavy in the air. Slowly the tension bled out of the room and when John snorted a laugh at something Stewie said, Dean relaxed back into his chair. Soon, the comedic genius of the show had John in stitches, despite his aversion to watching cartoons, and Dean found himself having fun as he and his dad passed the bottle back and forth between them.

 Winter seemed to drag on forever, the last of the snow falling in late March. A bitter cold snap kept that same snow on the ground until April. Then, as winter faded into spring, unusually heavy rainfall kept their lawn muddy long after the grass had turned green and started to grow. Dean’s day off ended up falling on the first dry and sunny day they’d had in a long damn time so he took to cleaning up their little yard. He’d just come off the night shift so he hadn’t slept at all yet. Maybe that’s why he was feeling cranky when his father’s truck pulled up. Leaning on his rake, Dean watched Bobby climb out of the driver’s seat and worked to suppress a laugh as John staggered and fell to one knee while trying to climb down from the passenger side.

“Whatcha think you’re laughin’ at boy?” slurred John as he stumbled across the yard.

“Take it easy, John,” said Bobby. His eyes met with Dean as he escorted John into the house. “Yard looks good son,” he said kindly as he passed. As his father was guided into the house, he looked back at Dean and hollered, “Whaddaya think yer lookin’ at?”

“Nothin’,” answered Dean icily, turning back to his work. His arms ached as he angrily raked up leaves and twigs from last fall into a pile of damp debris. He was just getting it all bagged up when he heard the screen door bang. Glancing back towards the house, Dean saw Bobby cutting across the yard towards him. As he tied off one bag and started another, Bobby stepped up and said, “He’s out like a light. I managed to get him to his bed. Thought you might like to actually use the couch for a change.”

“Thanks Bobby.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the bracelet on Dean’s wrist.

 “This?” Dean clarified, settling his hand over the red, yellow, and green braided bracelet on his wrist, “It’s just a souvenir. Sam got it for me in Jamaica. Didn’t feel right to not wear it at least once.”

“How is your brother?”

“Doin’ fine,” he nodded affirmatively. “Barely passin’ his classes as usual, but still getting by.”

“M’glad he’s doin’ alright. How’ve you been doin’?”

“I’m doin’ fine too, Bobby.”

“Good. After the Christmas party this year, I thought for sure your old man had lost himself a roommate. Glad to see you’re still around. Don’t know what your old man would do if you ran off too.”

“Cut the shit Bobby,” said Dean harshly. “We both know he wouldn’t give a fat rat’s ass if I split.”

“Boy, that ain’t true and you know it. If you honestly thought your old man didn’t care, you would’ve moved out of this shit-show a long time ago.”

“Well, he needs me,” admitted Dean, averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bobby agreed, scratching the back of his neck, “Someone’s gotta look out for that miserable SOB.”

With neither man looking directly at the other, it seemed a good time to part company. “See ya son,” Bobby said as he stepped away, clapping Dean on the shoulder affectionately.

“Yeah. You too Bobby, and thanks for bringin’ him home.”

“No problem,” he called back. “Me n Rufus will stop by on the way to work tonight and drop off the truck.”

Dean nodded agreement and watched as Bobby drove away in John’s pickup, his own Chevelle likely abandoned at the bar in favor of making sure John got home safe.

When his work was finished, Dean took a nice long shower. Since it was his day off, he opted not to shave off the five o’clock shadow that had been darkening on his chin since the wee hours of the morning. Instead, he grabbed his keys and headed for the car. As he approached his baby, he let out a low whistle at the mud splatters on her sides. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he purred to her as he climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. Leaving the oppression of his home life behind him, Dean swung his ride out into the street and headed for the car wash. He lovingly washed and towel dried her. Then he drove around town enjoying the shine of her glossy black paint in the sunshine.

The day was cloudless and as he rumbled through the little shopping district downtown, he spotted Lisa walking. She smiled warmly as he pulled up alongside her and leaned out the window.

“Heya, Lis”

“Hey, Dean”

“You look great.”

“So do you.”

“Wanna lift?”

“Maybe later,” she replied as her eyes slid over the car, “If you’re still around.” Then he watched her turn and duck into a dress shop. Once she was gone, he sped back up again. A few blocks down he pulled into an empty space outside the diner. He hadn’t had lunch and it was getting late. Hopefully there was still pie even though the lunch rush was long over.

Seating himself at his favorite booth, Dean glanced out the window at his baby when he sat down. Pulling a menu out from behind the napkin holder, Dean surveyed the choices and that’s what he was still doing when his favorite waitress, Cassie, came to lean against the table.

“Why do you even bother looking at that?” she chastised. “We both know you’re just going to order a bacon cheeseburger with extra onions.”

“And pie,” he replied with a trademark wink.

“Apple or cherry?”

“Surprise me,” he whispered.

She rewarded him with a smile and as she departed his thoughts returned to Lisa. They’d officially been broken up for over six months, but they’d never actually stopped sleeping together. It still stung a little bit when she joked that he just wasn’t “husband material,” which she did often, but he tried not to let it bother him too much. After all, she was absolutely right.

Although, if he was going to settle down, he’d probably like to do it with someone like her. She was relatively easy going, and she had her own life which didn’t revolve around his. As the town’s most successful realtor, she kept quite busy. And, in her evening hours, her stint as the town’s only real yoga instructor kept her nice and bendy. Lisa was a great lay. She said the same of him too, and between polite dates with her multiple suitors she kept her bedroom skills sharp by practicing with Dean. Vigorously.

Another great thing about Lisa was the practicality with which she approached all things. So, if there were ever someone who would be willing to marry a closeted gay man – it would be her. In fact, when she’d had a pregnancy scare once, he’d almost offered her an arrangement. Seeing the look on her face as she’d contemplated life as a single mom had him strongly considering the merits of it. But, in the end it had been a false alarm and the entire line of thought was abandoned.

When Cassie returned to his table and dropped off his drink, he gave her the once over. She’d been his girl once, too. But that was a long damn time ago. Right after high school. But, within a few weeks of seeing his life up-close and personal, she’d flaked out. Unlike many of his other lovers, she’d never fallen back into his bed after they’d split up. Her fortitude on the matter had won her Dean’s respect. They were friendly now, but that was it.  She was always working at the diner – trying to put herself through college online – and he ate a lot of meals there.

“Extra, extra onions,” she said with a smile when she dropped off his burger.

“Thanks,” he grinned, using two hands to pick it up. “What kind of pie am I getting?”

“I’m not telling,” she laughed lightly. “You said to surprise you.”

As she pivoted on her heel, he sank into his burger. Eating his fill, Dean kept one eye on the street in the hopes that timing would be his friend today and Lisa would finish her shopping soon. It had been days since he’d been properly laid and he didn’t really want to go home. Lisa’s airy bedroom seemed a perfect alternative to the dingy carpet and dark paneling of the house he’d been sharing with John Winchester for way too long. 

It had always been Dean’s plan to move out when Sam went off to college. But, real life doesn’t always work out according to plan. The transition just wasn’t how he’d pictured it… Sam wearing a robe and tasseled hat, marching to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, collecting his diploma to applause, and then spending the summer packing up to move out of his bedroom and into a dorm room.

Instead of that natural progression, Sam had just disappeared without a word. It had happened the morning after they’d gone to the carnival together. Dean had been sad, frustrated, and so very angry back then. He’d cried into his pillow that night – desperately sad for all that he’d never have with Cas. Then he’d repeatedly dreamed that John had walked in and seen him sucking cock. He’d woken drenched in sweat and more worried than ever about keeping the gay part of himself well-hidden.

Honestly, it was a strange thing to be so filled with contempt for his father but still seek his approval and affection so diligently.  He honestly couldn’t help it though. The hard-won praise of his father was a sweet nectar that he craved above all else.

The day after he and Sam had visited the carnival was the worst of Dean’s life, without a doubt. He’d already been tender from having to say good-bye to Cas and fearful of being caught with his pants down in his metaphorical closet. But when he’d called Sam for breakfast and gotten no answer, he’d quickly gone from depressed to terrified – stepping into Sammy’s room and finding it deserted.

Not knowing where his brother was had hit Dean hard, and a search of the house had yielded nothing. The day had been spent calling around, driving around town to look for him, and then finally calling the police to report that his brother was missing when they’d reached the twenty-four-hour mark.

Dean had not been clear headed at all. But the police had. They were the ones who noticed that Sam had taken his wallet, his favorite hoodie, and a picture of their dead mother from the small frame on his nightstand. Sammy was no longer missing, they said. Officially, he was a runaway.

Honestly, Dean understood the inclination to get away from their dad. But what he didn’t understand was how his baby brother could stand to leave him without so much as a goodbye. Why was there no note? Every night, for months on end, Dean had gone to bed wondering where the fuck his brother was and what was happening to him. The sickening knowledge of what often happened to young runaways kept Dean in a land of perpetual nightmares from which there was no waking.

When Cassie walked by, she dropped off his pie. The clunk of the heavy plate on the table pulled Dean out of his contemplative state. Chewing his last bite of burger, he reached out and spun the small dessert plate so he could see the filling. It was apple.

He never did meet up with Lisa again that day. Rather, he wound up returning home and crawling into the recliner with a tummy full of heavy diner food. He was still there, watching TV, when the sun began to set. When John finally woke, it had been dark for a while. Dean saw his father make his way to the bathroom. When the man walked into the living room, freshly showered, he asked Dean if he wanted to go with him and grab a beer.

“Sure,” he replied, mostly interested in getting out of the house again. Hoping to save himself an argument over keys later, Dean suggested taking baby. John seemed agreeable to a ride in his old car, and they both rolled down their windows to enjoy the good weather as they headed uptown. The men walked into the pool hall together and slid up to the bar.

Seeing his father signal the bartender for two beers, Dean turned his stool all the way around once in order to scope out the bar. The smoke was thick already and the jukebox was playing the latest from Santana. Most of the faces tonight were at least familiar, especially a group of guys that had been a few years behind Dean in school. They were clearly out now, two of them dressed in the uniforms of a local plumber and one in regular street clothes. They were playing pool, badly, and seemed to enjoy being the loudest fuckwits at the bar.

“I’ll be back,” said Dean as soon as he had a beer in his hand.

“Where you goin’?” grumbled John.

“It’s my civic duty to deprive those twats of their beer money.”

Enjoying the novelty of trading actual genuine smiles with his father, Dean pushed off his stool and ran his hands through his hair as he ambled over to the tables. Loosening his body to lend him the appearance of many more beers than he’d actually had, Dean stepped up to them and proceeded to mess up their names. Remembered for being notorious in high school, Dean was ushered easily into their group to “even up the numbers”. He quickly fell into playing doubles with them. Purposefully careless with his beer, it sloshed from his cup. He let them see him down a few more as he played an average game and kept them laughing at his crass jokes.

A couple girls wandered up, drawn in by their loud laughter, and wound up being an excellent distraction. Dean made sure to issue an artfully slurred challenge to the ringleader in front of the ladies. With his pride on the line, the guy didn’t hesitate to lay down half a dozen twenty-dollar bills on their next game.

With flirty girls on the radar, Dean’s opponent was an easy mark. When it was over, he counted out his winnings and returned to his stool at the bar. John gave him an approving nod – and then ordered a bottle of “the good stuff” with Dean’s newfound wealth.

Good moods from his father were always a rare treat. So, Dean made sure to enjoy the evening. As the hour grew later, Pam and Benny came in. They’d just gotten off their shift and Dean spent the last of his winnings to buy them shots. As if the night hadn’t already been damn decent, Dean caught a genuine look of pride emanating from John Winchester as he watched his son wrap an arm around Pam and usher her out of the bar for a fuck. If there was one thing that could always be counted on, it was that. John wasn’t proud of his eldest for taking care of his brother all these years. He didn’t give a fuck about the hours Dean spent cooking and cleaning and mowing and paying bills, or even the fact that Dean easily held down a good job. John hardly even noticed those things. But, leave the bar with a hot girl draped over him? Yeah. John will give him that look every time… the look that says, “Look at my boy. He’s a chip off the old block.”

The backseat of Dean’s car isn’t the most comfortable place for a screw. But, the novelty of getting it on in his baby never seemed to wear off. They could’ve easily walked into Pam’s house since they were parked right in her driveway. But, “where’s the fun in that?” she’d said as she slid her hand down his pants. Happy to oblige her sense of adventure, Dean had stood with the back door open and dropped trou for her. He watched the stars above as she sucked him down from inside the car and then when he was close to blowing up, he climbed in on top of her. With her long legs wrapped around his waist, he fucked into the warmth of her body. He didn’t even realize how enthusiastic they’d been until it was over and they’d stilled. The car had really been rocking.

“Officer Winchester,” she whispered breathily into his ear, “You should cuff me one of these days.”

“Or maybe you should cuff me,” he replied suggestively as he helped her back into her clothes.

Pam was still frisky as they said their goodnights and Dean relished the sound of her throaty laugh when he kissed her neck. Pam was amazing. She even smelled good to him, which few women did, her cologne spicy and sharp. The drive back to the bar was quiet and thoughtful. His buzz was faded now and his cock was sated so all that was left was contemplation.

Life had handed Dean a raw deal, but he didn’t complain about it much. In fact, he was strangely accepting of his circumstances. His father was useless, everyone knew that. Keeping the man functional was a full-time job. But, Dean did it well and had made his peace with things - for the most part. The baby brother that he’d spent his life struggling to raise had skipped town and left him in the dust, without so much as a thank you or a good bye. But, rather than dwell on that aspect of their relationship, Dean chose to be proud of all he’d managed to do for Sammy. He looked forward to the kid’s letters and occasional gifts, always watching the mail for any news of his brother. Sometimes it was hard, but he tried not to feel bitter about the fact that several years had gone by and Sammy hadn’t bothered to visit. Not even once.

It was hard to blame the kid for not coming home. He clearly had an enviable life out in Cali. When he’d first run off, Dean had assumed that Sam was penniless and alone, bouncing from bus station to homeless shelter and back again. But that wasn’t how it had been at all.

When he’d read the first letter from Sam, he’d been stunned. All that time he’d spent worrying was for nothing. Sam had left town with Ruby and Dean now knew that she was from a very wealthy family. Although she was technically a run-away too, she had run away with a purse full of platinum cards and the brand new mustang convertible she’d been given for her high school graduation. Sam had been sleeping in nice hotels and eating better than he ever had – while Dean had been lying awake in his shitty bed, worried out of his mind.

Sympathy for his baby brother had faded quickly into jealousy in those early days without Sam. It was frustrating because Sam’s life always seemed so easy compared to Dean’s. While Dean had labored around the house like Cinderella, Sam had lounged around and played video games. While Dean absorbed blows from his father, Sam was coddled by Dean. It was difficult to fight the jealousy Dean felt, but he did so by reminding himself that he’d worked very hard to make Sam’s life be as good as it could be. If Sam had it easier, that was his success. That singular thought helped him get past the jealousy and be happy for his brother, even now when the pattern continued despite their separation.

These days, Sam was off with a pretty girl, living life to its fullest without any effort at all. And where was Dean? Working 40 – 50 hours a week and living paycheck to paycheck while practically suffocating under the weight of life with their father. So, the jealousy may be more or less under control, but Dean still harbored a lot of anger. Luckily, that was easily channeled towards his father rather than his brother.

As Dean navigated his beloved Impala back towards the bar, he worked to stay in the present and not get bogged down in memories. Good or bad. His dad was in a good mood tonight, smiling and laughing and willingly spending time with Dean. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted. The streak of good luck stayed with him, the chore of getting John out of the bar at closing time being far less of a battle tonight than it usually was. Hell, they even sang along to a good tune in the car on the way home.

All in all, it had been a pretty good day. The following morning, John was back to his normal self. Selfish. Mean. Dean was all too happy to slip into his uniform and head off to work. At 25, Dean was now several years into his employment at the police department. But, he still didn’t have enough seniority to earn himself a permanent place on the dayshift. Instead he was stuck in a weird limbo between days and nights that kept his schedule unpredictable. Shifting back and forth wasn’t easy, but it was manageable. Like today, for example. He hadn’t slept after his last shift, and had then stayed out late last night with his father. Now that he was at work with so little sleep, his ass was dragging like a tired old dog.

He poured another cup of strong, bitter coffee and tried to at least _appear_ alert. John, the lucky bastard, was still warm in his bed. That old codger may have many years on Dean in terms of tenure, but since he was untrustworthy and irresponsible, his place on the nightshift seemed to be permanent. 

“Mornin’ brotha,” said Benny as he leaned over Dean for the coffee pot.

“Hey Ben.”

“Long night?”

“Great night,” he smiled, lifting eyebrows to let his friend know he’d gotten some.

“What time are you off?”

“Six.”

“Then what?”

“Gonna go home to bed like a good little boy,” he joked to Benny.

“Not goin’ to the carnival?”

“What?”

“Carnival’s in town. You didn’t hear?”

“No,” Dean answered in a whisper, brain stuttering once before coming back online. “When did they-

“Just now, or so I hear. Donna said she saw the trucks pulling into town when while she was running radar out by Jones Creek.”

“Damn,” muttered Dean as he headed back towards his desk.

“Andrea wants to take her nieces tonight. It’s gonna cost me a fortune…

Dean tried to listen to Benny as he talked of the plans he was forming, but it was useless. All Dean could think about was Cas. He longed to buy a ticket and push through the turnstiles as he’d done before… scour the grounds for any sign of the raven-haired lover he’d once pledged himself to. But he’d been told in no uncertain terms to stay away – to not come looking. Knowing that Cas was close by, but still unreachable, was a new kind of pain.

For the entire morning and half the afternoon, Dean worked to keep his thoughts from Cas as everyone around him carried on about the carnival. It wasn’t until he heard someone joke about ditching his wife and kids to see the peep show that Dean was suddenly struck with a fantastic idea.

 _I’ll go to the peep show_.

Cas had been firm about Dean not seeking him out at the carnival. But, he’d said nothing about the peep show. That was fair game. The memory of what he’d witnessed there as a boy leapt to the forefront of his mind now. Beyond the lighthearted burlesque show was another tent. A tent that wasn’t advertised. A tent where lowly and lonely men could search out the paid company of a lady for the evening (or perhaps more like thirty minutes). And, behind that, was another tent… one that housed all the darkest and most delicious fantasies he could’ve ever dreamed up.

As his mind circled and landed on a plan for the evening, Dean had to work to control the raging hard-on that surged to life under his desk. He played it cool as he sipped his coffee and clicked through is emails. But on the inside, he was squirming. The fact that it was illegal to buy a hooker, male or female, didn’t dissuade him at all. Enthusiastically, he promised himself that tonight, for the first time in years and years, he’d do a little something for himself. He’d go to the ATM and withdraw half his paycheck. That was his plan. Then, with a thick wallet, he’d head over to the peep show. Maybe he’d watch for a while, maybe he’d pass right by. But regardless, Dean was going to do something exciting tonight; something secret and special that he didn’t dare do outside of the very private areas at Mr. Crowley’s. Dean was going to fuck a man.

The clock could not have moved slower. When he ducked out for his patrol, Dean managed to cruise by the carnival. They were still setting up, but things seemed to be arranged in a familiar layout. His excitement grew as he watched the carneys setting up from the crest of a hill nearby, paying zero attention to the speed of drivers as they whooshed past his cruiser. When the hour finally came for him to punch out, Dean wasted no time. He went straight home to shower and change, stopping on the way to get cash.

Rolling into the makeshift parking lot of the adult’s-only section, Dean could hardly contain himself. He locked up, grabbed his things, and then began walking briskly toward the cluster of tents that glowed warmly in the night. Piano music and rowdy men singing and laughing marked the peep show tent for what it was. Even without the sign, he’d have known what was going on inside. Barely slowing, he walked right past that noisy tent. The area around it was well lit and near the entrance were boisterous men, either waiting to enter or just exiting. But, as he passed by the quieter back-side of the tent, Dean noticed an unmarked access point and knew it was the exit from the brothel portion. It was guarded by two hefty men and Dean smiled to himself as he remembered running from men like those with Cas and little Sammy years ago.

A dozen or so paces into the dark, Dean came across another tent. No music played here and there was no sign. But, the unmistakable sight of men loitering in the dark near the entrance told Dean that he was in the right place.

Looking around he noticed that there were all different sorts of men gathered here. Some were slender and scantily dressed while others were beefy and hairy and stared down their noses at him. One man was holding a dog collar in his hand. As he walked into the group, Dean was half hard already, and had been since he’d gotten out of the car.

Even to his untrained eye, it was obvious who was selling and who was buying. Dean walked among those for sale and tried to decide which he favored. He was a bit nervous, but excited too. Those whom he walked past all tried to look him in the eye. Some even reached out to pet him as he walked by, a gentle finger dragging over his forearm or a soft palm brushing his hip. With a racing heart, he stepped up to a clean-cut young man that was probably about his age. He was well proportioned and Dean liked the look of him. The man didn’t hesitate. He stepped into Dean’s space and put a hand on his hip. “Lookin’ for a good time?” he asked.

“Always,” Dean said with a grin, hoping his nervousness was well hidden.

“I’m Keith” he said softly. “What’s your name?”

Belatedly, Dean thought of giving a false name. If the man noticed his hesitation, he didn’t comment. “I’m Dave,” he replied, already growing in his pants. It was thrilling just to be touched this way by a man.

“Well Dave, what do you like to do?” he asked Dean.

“I like to fuck,” he answered honestly, “Can I fuck you, Keith?”

“It’s a hundred to fuck,” he said firmly. “And if you want to come on my face after, that’s extra.”

“Deal,” whispered Dean, pulling his wallet out.

“Not here,” whispered Keith, taking his hand and pulling him towards the tent.

Dean watched the two men at the entrance get a nod of approval from Keith and then passed between them to enter. Once inside, a behemoth of a man stepped up to frisk him. Satisfied that Dean was harmless, the man held out his hand. Dean counted six twenties and shoved them into that rough hand, unsure if he wanted to blow his load on the man’s face or not. Better to pay for it just in case.

The guy pocketed his cash and tipped his head to indicate Dean should follow Keith. As they moved into the dark, Dean went slowly. Keith waited a beat for him to catch up and, as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Dean saw the same epic sight he’d marveled at as a boy… an overwhelming display of male virility and carnality. His ears began to pick up on the salacious noises around them as he moved out among the others.

A few paces ahead of him, Keith must’ve undone his fly because the guy’s pants were riding lower with each step. Above his belt line, two ass cheeks were now starting to peek out. Dean’s mouth watered as he continued to follow. Keith paused near a stack of hay bales with a heavy blanket thrown over them. “Is this good?”

“It’s great,” husked Dean, his hands darting to his own belt. It clinked in the dark as he undid it and as he was pulling himself out, Keith was already crawling up onto the stack of bales. As the young man moved into positon on all fours, his pants slid down his thighs. In the soft glow of distant lantern light, Dean took in the sight of those milky cheeks and he growled possessively, climbing up behind Keith to take what was his. Pulling his dick out and pushing forward, Dean’s breath hitched as he felt his tip bump up against the boy’s ass.

“Here,” whispered Keith, reaching back to press a condom into his hands. Dean took it and ripped it open, eagerly rolling it down his shaft. Without missing a beat, Keith’s hand came back again, this time with a pouch of lube. With fevered fingers, Dean tore it open and slathered himself with it. He used his slick fingers to spread the guy’s cheeks apart and work wetness over his hole.

To his surprise, it wasn’t tight. Not like Cas had been. Clearly Dean was not the first customer of the night. He didn’t need good light to see the blackness of this guy’s hole as it stood open and ready for him. Grabbing hold of hips, Dean lined up and pushed inside, not stopping until his balls were resting hot against the man bent over in front of him. Needing a moment to steady himself, Dean leaned in over the young man’s back. His t-shirt smelled of sweat and sex and grass and Dean used his left hand to shove the shirt up and reveal skin.

The skin smelled like sweat too, and Dean breathed it in deeply. He smiled as he lifted his head and started to thrust. He fucked in good, taking what he wanted. It wasn’t nearly as tight as he was used to with any of his current partners, but he didn’t mind at all. This, after all, was a very different experience. He wasn’t closing his eyes and picturing a man while feeling the soft curves of a woman beneath him. He was wide-eyed and humping deep into the backside of a real man. In response, the man was groaning. The sound was masculine; distinctly male. As was the form rocking forward and back on hands and knees beneath him. The guy put on a good show too, riding Dean’s cock like he was doing it for free. Dean appreciated the effort.

Dean was pulling all the way out, only to slam back in. The gritty slide was glorious, the head of his cock registering a slight pop each time he pulled past that ring of muscle to extract his throbbing cock. Then, pushing past the entrance when he pumped back in delivered another tingle to his tip. Beneath him, Keith seemed to like it too. No longer was he doing obligatory moans, but whispering a ‘please’ each time Dean pulled out. The guy was literally begging him to breach him again and again.  Growing frantic with desire, Dean no longer had the patience to pull all the way out on each pump. He leaned forward and drilled his hips into Keith, fast, feeling a surge of lust as his ears registered the slapping of sweaty skin on skin. When he got too close to blowing up, Dean purposefully backed off, not wanting it to be over too soon.

Holding his breath and stilling his hips, he looked around the room. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see much better now. As he looked to the left, Dean could see a very large man fucking a very small one. The big guy was wearing a trucker’s hat and his jeans were down around his knees and his fat belly was spilling out over the little twink that bowed beneath his weight. Faint gasps were coming from the boy, and his arm was jerking his own cock at high speed, working to stay hard for the ogre who’d paid him to do this. The sight of them wasn’t really enticing, though Dean had to admit, it was fun to watch the kid jack himself.

Looking to his right he saw several pairs. Nearest them was a beefy guy, almost as big as Benny, and he was leaning against a pallet of boxes. At his feet was a man on his knees, sucking fervently on the man’s huge cock. It looked like a full day’s work.

Greedy, his eyes skimmed over the other figures that writhed in this place, secret from the rest of the world and thrilling. Dean wished against all logic that the world was more accepting of this; of them. He didn’t understand why this had to be a dirty secret. But at least if he had to keep his desires a secret, he could enjoy the lurid sensuality of this tent. It was erotic to watch the men around him have sex – and to know that they were watching him too.  Aware of the eyes on him, Dean looked down at the place where his thick cock was buried in the dark space between plump cheeks and felt a shiver of delight pass through him as he began rolling his hips faster.

Then, nearby, a new sound drew his attention. Slowing once more to look around, Dean’s eyes found the source of the enticing sounds. A dozen feet away was a man about Dean’s build. He was putting the screws to a younger man with a slight build and the boy was carrying on like Dean had never heard anyone do before.

The sounds of this boy shot straight to Dean’s cock. The erotic sounds of begging and whining grew louder as he watched – the kid was practically screaming now, wailing as he was fucked. Dean watched the kid’s back bow and his ass push up into the air as if he couldn’t get enough. “Fuck me!” the kid screamed out repeatedly.

Others were starting to look over as well, including Keith. Eyes were riveted on this boy as he was fucked harder and harder and still he called out for more and more and more. The force of the thrusts was flinging him forward onto the boxes he’d been bent in half over, but he never stopped shoving back against the giant cock that speared him. Not once did he relent, voice turning raspy as he screamed himself hoarse for more cock.

Dean had never seen anything like it. Even in porn. With his cock swelling fatter, and his mind dizzy with lust, Dean thrust forward hard, matching pace with the man who was literally fucking the shit out of his screaming whore. On the receiving end of his punishing pumps, Keith reached beneath his belly and began jerking himself off as he grunted under the effort of such a brutal pace.

With a rush like he’d never felt, Dean exploded from his tip and filled the condom. Exhausted, he fell forward over Keith’s sweaty back. The two stilled, catching their breath. Nearby, the most amazing boy Dean had ever seen was still carrying on, screaming out in pleasure and holding every eye in the room as he demanded more. “Yeah,” he wailed, “right there, give it to me! I want it! Fuck me!”

Still excited from the sounds he was hearing, Dean’s cock buzzed and even pulsed a few more times before pleading battle fatigue and going soft. Holding the edge of the condom with two fingers, Dean pulled out and tied off the rubber. Keith turned over and began to do up his pants, glancing at Dean once or twice as he put himself together. Dean was buckling his belt when Keith whispered to him, “Holy shit.”

They both stood watching as the center of attention in the room finally came, loud and long. The man behind him looked beat… but enthralled. He’d clearly gotten his money’s worth.

Walking together towards the exit, Dean nodded when Keith whispered, “Come see me again, Dave.” He stepped through the flap and out of the tent into fresh air. He’d not realized how dank and musty it had been inside until now. The breeze was cool and it woke him from his sleepy afterglow. He’d gotten what he wanted tonight. And, he planned to come back again tomorrow.

Not quite ready to go home yet, Dean wandered back over to the peep show tent. Drawn in by the lively music and colorful spectacle, Dean wound through the crowd and found a good place from which to watch.

He’d been there about long enough for the song to change when he heard his name hollered out. Turning, Dean saw a couple of old buddies from high school approaching. Gabriel and Michael. He greeted them warmly and spent a few minutes catching up. When the brightly frocked waitress passed by, they bought beers from her. The three watched the stage rather than look at each other as they talked of their lives. One thing led to another and pretty soon, Michael was cajoling Dean and Gabe to go with him to “the backroom”.

“Chicks for sale,” winked Michael, the one who’d been a football player in school.

“I don’t need to buy it,” laughed Gabe, “funny how you’re the hot one but I’m the one gettin' some, right?”

“You may be getting some,” Michael tossed back playfully, “But it’s far from free.”

“Dude. I don’t pay,” said Gabe firmly.

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you got laid?”

“Last night,” he answered with an eyebrow waggle pointed at Dean.

“You had a date last night?” Michael asked.

“Yep.”

“What did you do?”

“The usual, dinner and a movie.”

“So… that’s, what, fifty bucks for dinner? Another twenty for the movie?”

“Well, by the time we got popcorn and soda it was almost forty for the movie.”

“So, Gabe, you got laid last night and it cost you almost $90. Let’s go back stage and see what $90 will buy you without you having to put any effort into it. Laughing as he observed their banter, Dean followed them to the backroom. He’d seen it before anyway, as a boy.

The bouncer near the entrance to the back stopped them and asked if they were cops. When they said no, he allowed them to proceed, not even noticing that Dean had remained silent while his friends answered.

They filed through the opening one at a time and as Dean looked around, he saw that not much had changed over the years. It looked a bit smaller now than it had back then. But, the same thing was happening. Girls were showing off, exposing bits of themselves to entice and waiting for someone to make a reasonable offer. The prettiest girl in the room was dancing on the bar. She lifted her skirt each time a man approached and gave them a tiny peek at her pink satin panties before bending down to whisper her price in their ear. The conversation between his old friends faded into the background as Dean zeroed in on her. There was something very familiar about this girl and he didn’t even realize he’d been moving closer until she artfully pulled back the layers of her skirt to give him a glimpse of the goods. When she bent down and whispered, “It’s an even hundred for the works,” Dean recognized the sound of her voice. He saw her do a double-take when she, in turn, remembered him too. Before he could even consider how much she probably didn’t want to be recognized, he blurted out, “Jo? Jo Harvelle?”

She was clearly stunned and as he watched her face crumble in shame, his heart went out to her. He reached for her, wanting to take her hand and pull her down from the bar and carry her out of there. She so clearly didn’t belong. He never got the chance though. She turned from him and climbed down the opposite side of the bar. He called out to her, “Wait –

But she was gone. She’d vanished through the doorway behind the bar. Dean knew too well where that door led and he didn’t follow. “Get you something, hun?” asked the busty bar maiden who’d just walked up.

“No,” Dean replied, still in shock. “No thank you.”

Behind him, Gabe and Michael were still arguing the virtues of paying for sex versus ‘absorbing normal costs’ for it. Both appeared to have been oblivious to his haunting exchange. Dismayed and saddened, Dean turned and left.

Jo Harvelle had been a nice girl. She’d been perfection, sitting on her lifeguard stand like the cherry on a sundae. She’d had a winning smile and, for a time, had been a movie star. Counting the years in his mind, Dean couldn’t believe that her run in Hollywood was over and she’d already been reduced to such lowly and degrading work to get by. Thoughts of her plagued him all week. But, they didn’t keep him from coming back to Mr. Crowley’s burlesque venue again and again. He blew through his entire check and had pulled out a chunk of his meager savings in just a few days, paying for at least one fuck every time he came. Each was good in his own way, but the best was Alfie, forever to be remembered by Dean as ‘The Screamer’.

Dean had never felt like such a stallion as he did while he laid into that lean piece of ass. To watch his cock pound into Alfie’s perfect ass and hear his name screamed out in ecstasy was worth paying double, which was the boy’s going rate. He was a favorite too – Dean had to wait patiently for his turn. When he entered the tent on the last night of the carnival, Dean could’ve wept for how much he’d miss coming here.

It wasn’t just about getting his rocks off either. He could do that for free with any number of women, anytime he wanted. But, to be here was to be among others who felt like he did… to be accepted for what he was by those around him… to feel the hands of a man slide over his body in a sexual way… and to not  feel shame for the things he wanted to do and say and feel.

 To be here was to be out of the closet, even if it was only for an hour and only in the dark and only for a price.

It would have been nice to be with Alfie on his last night, but instead, he went with a tall man who reminded him a little of Benny. Okay, so maybe he’d thought about his friend a time or two. Sue him. The dude was hot.

As he’d stepped into the tent, the hulking man had leaned in on him and quietly said, “You sure you don’t want me to fuck you? You look like you want it.”

The guy was right. He did. After many visits to this tent, Dean could not deny an overwhelming urge to bend forward and welcome a huge, shiny cock between his cheeks. He wanted to feel filled, satisfied, thoroughly fucked. But -

“No,” he said, thinking of his promise to Cas, “No thanks, man.”

“Whatever you say chief,” replied the bearded man as he took down his pants and bent over.

“Thanks,” murmured Dean as he rolled a condom onto his dick and lubed up.

Fucking someone built bigger than himself was different. Good. But nothing could lift his sadness at this being his last night – especially since the carnival could not be counted on to return every summer. No one ever knew when Mr. Crowley’s carnival would roll back into town.

After he’d cum, Dean didn’t pull out right away. It was as his cock was softening, nestled sweetly in the tight heat of his Benny-look-alike that Dean felt hands come to rest on his hips from behind. Before he could turn to see who was behind him, Dean heard Alfie’s voice in his ear.

“Are you done here?”

“For you? Hell yeah,” answered Dean without hesitation.

“Good. Clean up and come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Dean did as he was told and was soon walking between the tents, shoulder to shoulder with Alfie. Near the middle of the burlesque area was a small, red and white striped tent. Alfie led him there and then stopped short of entry. He gestured for Dean to go inside and so he did, without question.

When he stepped inside the tent, Dean found himself face to face with an older man, mid to late thirties. He was a handsome man, dressed like a ringmaster, right down to the tails on his suit coat and the top hat perched on his head. Stepping up to Dean, he extended his hand for Dean to shake.

“You must be Dean Winchester,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief.

“I am,” he nodded, momentarily forgetting that he’d never given his real name to anyone here.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean. I’m Mr. Crowley and this is my carnival.”

Dean fumbled around for something to say, unsure of why he’d been brought to this tent and surprised by the man’s accent.  It sounded British… Scottish perhaps. Exotic, for the Midwestern states, anyway.

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” said Dean, simply for lack of something better to say.

“Well thank you, Dean. We’ve noticed that you’re very happy with the services we provide.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, starting to wonder if they’d found out he was a cop. “I, um, I don’t really…

“Oh, don’t worry Dean, your secrets are quite safe with us,” reassured the ringmaster Crowley. “In fact, that’s why I’ve sent for you. I think there’s something I can do for you. Have you thought at all about why you keep coming back here?”

Dean could feel the air around him changing; it was electric, like the churning cold front ahead of a storm. Belatedly, Dean grew wary. He suddenly noticed how vulnerable he was as he stood on shaky legs, still buzzing in an after-orgasm bliss. No gun. No back up. Hell, no one even knew where he was right now. Suddenly, Mr. Crowley no longer seemed dark and sexy. He just seemed dark.

“Tell me Dean,” he whispered. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

Dean’s mind was a blank. Was this a trick question?

“C’mon,” insisted Crowley with his dark eyes shining, “Deep down, you know why you come here over and over… and it isn’t just to spend a hundred bucks in your favorite tent.”

Dean was riveted to the spot and it felt as though his feet were glued to the floor. His vision blurred at the edges. He saw nothing but Crowley, and the ringmaster’s eyes, lit with intuition, trained on him fiercely. Wickedly, they pierced him and saw to his core. Disturbing as it was, there was something sexy about Mr. Crowley. Dean liked the way he looked down his chin as though he knew every secret desire Dean had ever held, and wanted nothing more than to indulge. His poor tired dick began to grow chubby between his legs again as the two men locked eyes, and, with a smirk, Crowley snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, Dean’s tunnel vision expanded to include the entrance to this tent. The two flaps that had been closed until now fluttered as figure pushed through and came towards them. Dividing his attention between the two figures, the newcomer’s identity wasn’t discernible right away. But in the space of a few heavy breaths, Dean realized that it was Alfie. He’d been summoned, and as he moved near to Dean, it was impossible to even acknowledge the boy. Dean wanted to look at him, he did. But he simply could not break away from the forceful gaze of the ringmaster in his long-tailed suit.

“You come back to my carnival, Dean, because there’s something you want and you know that I can give it to you,” continued Crowley, obviously aware that he owned Dean completely in this moment. The action couldn’t even be seen in his peripheral vision, but Dean could feel it when the young boy, Alfie, sank to his knees at Dean’s feet.  “On your most base level, you can feel my power. You know that I can change your life.”

The soft touch of timid fingers to Dean’s engorged package sent tingles spreading out through his groin as Alfie gently undid Dean’s belt at the buckle. Dean felt his knees grow weak as pulses of anticipatory pleasure spread out over his body. His breath coming faster as he felt the tug of his zipper coming down. Mr. Crowley was still watching intently, not judging him but enjoying the show and even licking his lips as he watched Dean’s cock be pulled from his pants.

The titillation of being watched so closely as something so sexy was happening had Dean achingly hard in Alfie’s hand in the space of a few seconds. When a wet tongue flicked out to taste the tip of him, it was impossible not to smile. Pleasure washed over him then, as his swollen member was engulfed by an eager mouth.

When Crowley began speaking again, Dean gave up trying to make sense of what was happening. He brought his hands forward and gripped the head that hovered on his groin and clenched tightly, instinctively knowing that it was okay to use this gift he was being given. He fisted tightly into Alfie’s hair and mercilessly pulled him forward over his own cock, forcing himself brutally into the back of the boy’s throat.

Choking sounds permeated the air as Dean pulled the boy’s head forward over and over. He gave no rest or respite to the young man servicing him and felt his cock swell larger as a feeling of power swept over him. Dean knew by the look in Crowley’s eye that he could do whatever he wanted with this kid. And right now, he wanted to use the boy ferociously. At his feet, he could feel Alfie’s weight shifting as he tried to stay balanced on his knees. The boy’s hands were clutched tightly to Dean’s thighs for stability. In the air, sounds of meek protest drifted to Dean’s ears as he shoved himself down the boy’s throat and smiled, sick with greedy lust. Mr. Crowley watched him do it with a giddy gleam in his eyes.

“You can have it all,” said the ringmaster, stepping towards him. “You can have this, all the time. Any boy you want, Dean. Hell, why stop at one? Have a few – take all you like. They’ll do every dirty thing you ever dreamed of - they’ll love it. They’ll beg you for more.”

Dean’s cock was heavy like he’d never felt it before. The sheer depravity of the images that slithered through his mind was staggering and an insatiable hunger surged up inside him. But Crowley wasn’t done. He moved closer still. He stepped up to Dean and held his gaze as he laid his hands on Alfie’s head, over Dean’s, and began pushing the boy to open wider, take it deeper, accept pain for the sake of Dean’s pleasure. The ringmaster’s shoulders and body began to move as he pressed himself into Alfie from behind and rolled his body with the boy, trapping the lad between them and lighting Dean on fire with his lascivious smile as he seemed to share in Dean’s pleasure.

“I can give it all to you, Dean. A life like you never dreamed. You deserve more than what you’ve been cursed with. You deserve it all.”

The vibration of Crowley’s words moved over Dean’s body and he began to rock, rolling his hips in time with the magic man before him as Alfie suckled on Dean’s cock between them. “Yes,” he murmured as he fucked his cock into a willing mouth. Crowley’s eyes were heavy on him and he could feel the man’s breath on his cheek.  The building want inside of him could not be ignored. He wanted to pound into something feverishly… fuck for days and still not cum. He wanted to use and be used over and over until he was finally satisfied.

“Imagine it Dean, indulgence like this. Every. Single. Day. Life… spreading out before you… all your desires just waiting for you… no drunken buffoon of a father to slow you down… and in his place… an insurance payout that guarantees you’ll never have to punch a time-clock again. You could travel, Dean. You could hit the open road in that car you love so much and wake up every day with nothing to do but decide where you want to eat and how you want to fuck.”

“Yes,” Dean moaned, feeling his excitement grow as another set of hands slid over him from behind. Insistent fingers dug in and pulled his jeans down his thighs. Cool air slid over his hot skin and he let out another “yes” as he felt an unknown tongue graze his butt cheek. Then there were two, one on each side. They swirled and nibbled and then there were fingers ghosting over his crack… a glorious confusion of hands and tongues that left him wondering how many bodies had now gathered behind him. Who was pleasuring him? Did he even care?

When he had to work to open his eyes, Dean realized that they’d drifted closed and his head had tipped back in supplication. Opening his eyes again, he saw red and white stripes; the ceiling of Mr. Crowley’s tent, lit and glowing softly with the amber light of lanterns.

His hands, he found, had gone limp and now hung at his sides passively as a writhing mass of bodies worked around him. Crowley was stepping back to watch with approval and Dean could feel Alfie trading licks with someone else as they moved over his wet shaft together. They sucked his balls in turn and flicked tongues over his tip while his member throbbed insistently with the urge to cum. At the same time, his crack was being pulled open and licked, fingers toying with his pucker and escalating his want to new heights.

Working to pull his fuzzy gaze back to the man tempting him, Dean forced his eyes back to Crowley. He found the man looking pleased. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched Dean stand amidst a cluster of bodies, all writhing as they touched and licked and sucked on him. When Dean could barely stand, over-run with sensations to the point of breaking, Crowley added, “You’ll be like Sam.”

Dean snapped to attention at the mention of his brother. “Finally,” continued Crowley, “you’ll have a charmed life just like your brother. You’ll have everything you ever dreamed of, and more. It’s all yours for the taking, Dean.”

With his head swimming, his eyes blurry, and his body consumed in pleasure, Dean gave himself over. He managed to whisper another ‘yes’ and followed it up with, “What do I have to do?”

“I have a contract right here,” said Crowley, reaching inside his lapel, “You can read it over if you’d like, but it’s simple. Straight-forward. In exchange for your soul, I will give you everything you ever wanted from life… and ten years to enjoy it.”

Dean’s sex-addled brain sputtered like a choking engine. “W-What?”

“The price is one soul. Yours, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“Wait,” Dean whispered, trying to shake off the fever dream will himself back to reality. The effort of it was monumental; more than he felt capable of. “Wait,” he stammered again, “You – you want my soul? Who, I mean, _what_ are you?”

“I’m your new best friend,” said Crowley in softer voice, “I’m the one who’s going to hand you the world on a silver platter. Then, years from now, when you’ve had your fill, I’ll take you away from this life. By then you’ll be tired of it all anyway – you’ll be middle age. You’ll have crow’s feet and be plucking your first grey hair. You’ll have to shave your back and get your moles checked and you’ll be looking in the mirror every day watching it get worse.  That’s when, in my infinite mercy, I will take you to my kingdom. Think of it Dean – you’ll never have to stare into the mirror and know that your best years are behind you. You’ll never be that creepy old guy at the bar that can’t get laid. You’ll never have to ask your doctor for Viagra just so you can get hard. While the rest of your sorry sodding generation wastes away here, you’ll be enjoying eternal youth with me in my kingdom.

Dean was speechless. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit more than passive interest in the offer. But something about being asked for his soul opened up a can of worms that he’d never imagined having to deal with. Not to mention that some amendments might be necessary. After all, John was a colossal bag of dicks. But did Dean really want him dead? No. He’d buried one parent. That was enough.

“Clearly,” continued Crowley, not giving him much time to think, “I know what you like. And, I think I’ve proven that I can show you a good time. What’s the harm in spending eternity with a gent like me, right?”

Survival instincts were starting to kick in now. Finally. Feeling the need to focus, Dean shoved away the hands and mouths that were servicing him. Immediately he began to notice his clouded mind clearing. Rational thought was returning. Memories of the temptations he’d been offered still swirled in his mind and Dean had to acknowledge how much he wanted some of those things. He’d been offered a charmed life and part of him longed to accept it. 

But, sell his soul?

Dean hadn’t put much stock in his soul or its redemption - not even when Pastor Jim would implore him to think of the afterlife and repent of his sins. On some level, he’d always considered the condition of his soul to be the least of his troubles. But to just trade it away? The thought was hard to swallow.

Belatedly, he also had to concede that his soul must be valuable even if he’d never thought so before tonight. Because if he was being promised riches and magic in exchange for parting with it, then it must be worth more than he’d ever imagined.

“No,” he found himself whispering for the first time all night. The strength needed to even say the word softly was tremendous. But getting it out once seemed to make it easier to repeat.  “No,” said Dean, more firmly. He reached down and began pulling his pants back up

“Dean,” said Crowley firmly, trying to pull Dean’s attention back to him. It was hard to break the spell, but Dean managed to turn his eyes towards the exit over Mr. Crowley’s shoulder. Yanking his pants up as best he could, he willed his feet to move, and shoved his way out from the mass of bodies around him. Taking a few more steps, Dean found the strength to address the ringmaster again and with more fortitude. “I’m not for sale.” Getting closer to the exit seemed to bring Dean all the way back to himself. So, he continued on that path without looking back. The more distance he put between himself and temptation, the more he started to feel like his old self.

“Everyone has a price,” called Crowley from behind him.

 Without turning back, Dean huffed a laugh and called out over his shoulder, “Well then, I guess you can’t afford me.”

Outside air was refreshing as Dean pushed through the flaps of the tent and inhaled deeply. Though it was obvious he was being allowed to leave, having such power and darkness at his back was disconcerting. The urge to flee was building fast. Pushing his junk back into his jeans was no easy task. It stood, ramrod straight and hard as steel, leaking profusely from the tip. He almost couldn’t get himself zipped up and cringed at the pain when he began walking like that. Dean didn’t notice the other carnival guests and didn’t waste any effort wondering if they noticed him. He just put one foot in front of the other with determination and went straight to his baby.

The drive home was hell, his erection not subsiding despite the cold sensation of dread that had spread over him. He’d had a brush with something unnatural… something otherworldly… something inherently evil and deceptive. It chilled him to the bone.

Rolling down his window and allowing the hot breeze of an August night to blow on his face did nothing to warm him and neither did running the heat on full blast. By the time he reached home, Dean was nauseous and covered in a cold sweat - still hard as a rock and throbbing in his jeans. Pushing his way into the house Dean found the kitchen light was on. Under its harsh glare he could see a large wet spot on his pants where his painful hard-on was still oozing more and more jizz. With only the promise of relief in mind, Dean fled to his bedroom.

As he passed by the doorway to the living room, Dean caught a glimpse of John Winchester. The man was passed out on the floor in a heap next to a turned over bottle. Still, Dean didn’t stop. He shoved his way into his room, shut and locked his door, and then immediately began working to relieve the pressure on his dick. There was no time for tugging his pants all the way off. He stumbled to his bed with jeans twisting around his ankles and flopped down with his hand already wrapped around himself. The monster under his palm was not going to give up and wither. It demanded to be brought to completion.

Stripping his cock like a mad man, Dean grunted and groaned and thrust his hips to no avail. Desperate, he lunged to his secret stash and pulled out lube, not caring about the mess as he squeezed hard to coat himself with viscous liquid in the hopes that he could finally cum. He fumbled in vain attempts, tumbling from the bed to the floor as he worked himself with both hands. Muscles burned in his arms and back with the effort and his stomach clenched till it was sore, but still he found himself unable to climax. The steady stream of semen rolling from his tip was the only relief and it wasn’t enough. Humping obscenely into his own double fist like a lunatic, Dean thought he’d lose his mind. It was punishment, he could see that now. It was his lovely parting gift for being on the show… a ‘fuck you’ from Mr. Crowley for not accepting the terms and conditions of the deal.

Tears sprang from his eyes and flowed freely as he garbled broken pleas into the mangy carpet, his body screaming for release while his dick held back his spend like a flood gate.

“Please,” he begged to any deity listening. “Please!”

And then, finally, one last wave of lust surged over him and passed through. With it, his body finally gave in and a rising swell heaved itself through his abdomen and down into his shaft. He shuddered as he felt it pass through his length and then, finally, hot cum sprayed out onto the floor like water from behind a thumb at the tip of a garden hose.

Relief washed over Dean in waves as he emptied himself onto the shag carpet. Liquid came and came, pooling into a puddle the likes of which he’d never seen, first in a blast and then in subsequent bursts before slowing to a trickle. Gulping in deep breaths of relief was a mistake though. The cum beneath him was foul. He’d never smelled anything like it and his nauseous stomach rolled from the stink.  Before he could crawl away he was already heaving. With jeans still tangled around his ankles, Dean stopped fighting and let it go. When he’d finished, he dragged himself away and pulled up his t-shirt for something to wipe his mouth with. “Fuck,” he whispered as he let his head fall on his arm. “Holy fuck.”

Utterly spent, Dean found his vision darkening around the edges and his limbs lacking the strength to even crawl over to his bed. With a sigh, he gave up on the battle for consciousness and let himself sink down into the blackness of a deep sleep.  

An insistent knocking was his wake-up call. Coming out of the thick blanket of sleep, Dean found himself freezing. He was still on the floor, where he’d apparently spent the night, and he was practically naked. His shirt was still rucked up to his chin where he’d used it to wipe the puke off his mouth last night. His underwear and jeans were still a convoluted mess at his feet. The sun was shining in his window, heating the small space, and the sour smell of vomit and foul jizz permeated everything.

From beyond his bedroom, Dean could hear angry fists pounding on the front door and as soon as he was awake enough to comprehend the sound, he was moving. Wrestling himself out of his boots wasn’t easy, but as he tugged them off he was able to finally remove his jeans all the way. Leaping to his feet, he yanked his filthy shirt off and tossed it over the disgusting mess from last night.

“Just a sec,” he yelled, tugging a pair of sweats from his drawer and pulling them on as he dashed to answer the door. It was Bobby.

“Did I disturb your beauty sleep?” he grumped as Dean opened the door to him.

“What the fuck, Bobby? Could ya be any louder? We’ve got neighbors, man.”

“Yeah? Then haul your ass out of bed when I knock like a normal person,” the man retorted gruffly as he shoved in past Dean.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to follow Bobby out into the living room.

“Your old man was supposed to be on this morning. It’s the second time this month,” spat Bobby as he knelt beside John’s lifeless body on the living room floor. “Ya gonna help me out?” he prodded. “Or just stand there and look pretty?”

“Fuck. Yeah, sorry Bobby,” said Dean, stepping forward to assist so they could get John on his feet. It wasn’t easy. They hefted him up, but then John roared to life and started swinging. As the two men worked to get John oriented, they had to duck the haphazard punches he threw.  

When he’d come to his senses, John shook Dean off and turned to Bobby. “W-What, did I oversleep?”

“Yeah, I’d say,” grumbled Bobby. “You were supposed to be on a half hour ago. Rufus hasn’t noticed yet, or at least, he hadn’t when I left. Now get your ass movin’.”

Dean watched his father shake off his stupor. He flopped down on the couch when John pushed him away a second time. When Bobby said that he’d take care of it this time, Dean didn’t argue.

“Another day in paradise,” he sighed. From the next room, he could hear Bobby running water in the sink, getting John Winchester cleaned up and into a uniform. Once the two were out the door, Dean set to work cleaning up the nasty mess in his room. Unable to stand the residual stink, even after the additional scent of household cleaners had been layered over top, Dean opened his window to air it out and closed the door behind him. In the bathroom as he showered and brushed his teeth, Dean thought about last night. He could clearly remember going to the carnival and fucking the dude who looked like Benny. The events after that were fuzzy though, blurry around the edges and hard to sort out. The feeling was reminiscent of a half-forgotten dream, a few glimpses of memorable moments but no chord of continuity to hold the events together or help them make sense.

As days went by, life fell back into routine. The carnival was long gone, but the memories of his week spent fucking boys behind the peep show had left Dean with an arsenal of new material for his spank bank. Summer faded into fall and fall to winter. Sammy sent letters and Dean read them. Chores needed to be done and Dean did them. His father needed help and Dean gave it. Life went on.

With his sexuality still a carefully guarded secret, he often found himself thinking about the carnival and its pleasures. Tucked away in the very back of Dean’s mind were a few glimpses of the famed Mr. Crowley. They probably weren’t even real… just left over pieces of some strange forgotten dream. But, whenever Dean’s thoughts wandered to the carnival, he found himself anxiously awaiting its inevitable return.

 

      


	4. A Damned Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great many heartfelt thanks to Destiella for her work on this chapter. She's incredible, and I'm learning so much from her!

Dean shifted in his seat, a shiver snaking up his spine. He’d been sitting here a long time, speed gun pointed at the slow trickle of oncoming traffic. He hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten but now that he was becoming aware, he wanted to turn on the heat. When he started the car, the fan kicked on with it. But, instead of heat, the vent blew a gust of freezing cold air at him. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, Dean shifted in his seat again and stretched his legs as best he could within the confines of his cruiser.

Sometimes, this was a boring-ass job. He’d been sitting here for almost three hours. No one was speeding tonight, either because the roads were still a bit icy from the last storm, or because his cruiser was more visible than he thought under the silvery light of a full moon. Having sat here since his dinner break, Dean had been alternating back and forth between too hot and too cold, turning the car on each time he got cold and then shutting it off again when he’d overheated. He had dozed off repeatedly, waking only when his speed gun beeped. Each time, he’d glance at the reading through bleary eyes before letting his head drop back against the seat again.

Dean didn’t used to sleep in his patrol car. Ever. It was something John did. And, wanting to be nothing like the man, Dean had spent years avoiding behaviors that were too similar. Lately though, lately it just didn’t seem worth the energy anymore. At some point, though Dean couldn’t remember exactly when, he’d started letting himself off the hook for things like that. It was like that with the household chores too. Over time, his inclination had waned. Considering that Sam never visited them, there wasn’t much point in keeping the place spic-n-span.

Also, drunken rages from John were easier to tolerate with a solid buzz. So, Dean no longer reminded himself of things like the time of day when he poured himself glasses of whiskey. These days he drank when he wanted. Sometimes he found himself hurrying to get to work, having lost track of the time, and once he’d even overslept. His temper was harder to control than it used to be, too. Honestly, it was just too difficult to take care of John Winchester without becoming him. Dean was slipping and he knew it.

The utter silence of a winter’s night was suddenly broken by a squall from Dean’s police scanner. Benny’s voice crackled through the car, “Car three, code 9.”

Dean sat up a little straighter and stretched as he listened to his friend rattle off the plate number of the car he was pulling over. While he’d been lost in his thoughts, the car had gotten too hot again. Turning down the heat and cracking his window, Dean pulled away from the shoulder and back out onto the two-lane blacktop that connected their little town to the rest of the world. The cool air rushed in as he picked up speed and it helped clear his mind, foggy from sleep.

“Code 4,” growled Benny, indicating that his traffic stop had failed to pull over and he was now in pursuit.

Dean responded immediately with his location, only to hear Benny respond with, “Standby”.

Pulling a u-turn, Dean pointed his headlights back towards the city limits. A moment later Benny’s voice flooded the airwaves again, laughing as he called out a code three. “That means you sleeping beauty,” he barked at Dean.

“Car 7 responding,” Dean replied. “Location?”

“Highway 20, east of town and comin’ in fast.”

“I’m inbound from the south on Old Church Road,” replied Dean. “Two minutes to intercept.”

“Aaannd we’re done,” chuckled Benny. “Looks like a code 2 at the intersection of 20 and Third Street.”

Dean was already turning onto Highway 20 at that moment and could see the flashing strobe of Benny’s lights from a few blocks away. Passing by to execute a u-turn and come up behind, Dean caught a glimpse of the scene. He could see why Benny was laughing. There was a burgundy Buick pulled sloppily to the side of the road, and a young girl, probably high-school age, was leaning against it and puking.

Exiting his vehicle, Dean began teasing Benny as he approached, “You get all the action.”

“You’re here aintcha?”

Barely huffing a chuckle in response, Dean shone his spotlight on the car. Inside he counted three other heads, one distinctly female and the other two, in the backseat, he was uncertain of. “This reminds me of homecoming,” he said as he proceeded to approach the driver with Benny.

“Which part? The getting pulled over or the puking?”

“Both,” he grinned as he remembered Carmen, drunk as a skunk and trying to suck him off. She’d pulled off just in time to spew all over his shoes instead of on his junk.

But that was the past. Now, in the present, it took them over an hour to handle the incident. An hour on a dark road in the freezing cold. They called the parents of each kid in the car and accepted the appreciative handshakes afforded them as the wayward teens were collected and taken home. Dean and Benny stood watching from a half-dozen paces as they waited for the last set of parents to leave. Their breath was fog in the ice-cold air and they hunkered down in their heavy coats as the mother walked her daughter to their family car and deposited her in the back seat, lecturing in a shrill voice the entire time. The father, stoic, climbed into the abandoned Buick to drive it away. Dean and Benny both grimaced as they watched him stretch getting into the car, working to avoid his daughter’s puke puddle.

“I’m off,” nodded Dean, heading back to his car. His shift had ended half an hour ago and he was ready to punch out.

“Get a drink?” Benny offered, “Warm up a bit?”

“Hell yeah,” he answered easily.

From the station, Dean followed Benny’s old pickup down to the bar. It was near deserted when they walked in, a few die-hards perched at the bar and one cozy couple cuddled into a booth near the back. Nickelback was on the jukebox and above the bar were two TV’s with the sound turned down.

Ash, Dean’s favorite bartender, was wiping down the tap as he and Benny sidled up to the bar. “Good evening officers, what can I do ya for?”

“Whiskey,” said Benny, easing himself onto a stool, “Two.”

“Just two? What are you gonna drink?” joked Dean.

Leaning in to pull questionable glasses from beneath the bar, Ash asked them conversationally, “Cold out there?”

“My nips could cut glass,” replied Dean tersely.

“I heard there’s something nasty rollin’ in this weekend,” replied Ash with a smile as he pushed their drinks to them.

“I heard that too,” nodded Benny. “We’re supposed to get anywhere from 6 to 8 inches.”

It was hard for Dean to hold back a chuckle at that. His mind went straight to the gutter. He was, after all, planning a trip for the coming weekend. And, getting his hand around a good eight inches was part of the plan for said trip.

Over the past few years, Dean had taken to leaving town occasionally. The way some men went to the country for camping or fishing, Dean went to the city. The anonymity of being surrounded by strangers made it possible to frequent gay bars and other enticing venues without putting his sexuality at risk of exposure.

It wasn’t as if his little country town was devoid of all sin; there was actually an adult bookstore just off of the main street downtown. But was Dean free to walk in there and buy himself a vibrating butt plug? No way. Someone might see him. Hell, the person who rang him up might tell someone. That’s where these little weekend trips came in handy. He’d leave in the morning and arrive on a Friday afternoon to do a little shopping of the scandalous variety. Then he’d go out to the bars that night. He’d cruise guys, flirt… hell, sometimes he even danced. It’s not like anyone he knew would see - and the experience was so very freeing.

He’d always sleep late on Saturday in his hotel room and then Saturday night he’d go out again, working the bars until he found someone to suck him off in the bathroom or let him fuck them in a backroom. Or both. The entire weekend was built around indulging the side of him that never saw the light of day back in his hometown. Often he’d work his way through an entire pack of condoms in a single weekend. Then, sated, he’d return to his regular life where no one was ever the wiser.

“You got plans?” Benny asked him, yanking Dean’s mind back to the present.

“For the weekend? Yeah. Was planning to get outta town for a few days. Why?”

“Well, the girls wanted to do something for your birthday. I’m supposed to get you to come out with me on Saturday and then bring you here. It’s a surprise.”

“Well damn,” Dean sighed. Between his legs, Dean’s greedy pecker was protesting. The idea of blowing off a ‘get laid’ weekend in favor of a lame surprise birthday party thrown by Donna, Jody, and Pam was unwelcome. But, Dean counted himself lucky to have friends like his. He knew that they cared for him and that as inconvenient as their ‘caring’ was, he owed it to them to show up and pretend to enjoy it.

Whenever anyone mentioned, ‘the girls’, they were referring to the three ladies on staff at the police department. They got along well despite a sharp contrast in their personalities. It was ‘the girls’ that pulled together their holiday parties and summer barbeques. They were also the ones who took up collections when a member of the force was ill or injured or having a family crisis. Sadly, it was also these three ladies that made sure noteworthy occasions were celebrated. It would appear that Dean’s thirtieth birthday had been deemed worthy of celebration.

“C’mon brotha,” chuckled Benny beside him. “It won’t be that bad. We’ll have a few drinks and play pin-the-tail-on-Rufus.”

Dean nodded a begrudging agreement before shooting his whiskey. It burned in a pleasant way as it made its way down. “One more,” he husked through gritted teeth as he clunked his empty glass down on the bar.

“Make it two,” added Benny, finishing his and pushing his empty over next to Dean’s.

They didn’t stay long after that. Benny was ready to head out as soon as he got a text from Andrea. The week went by quickly, and by Saturday Dean was thirty years old. He got a call from Sam that day and they wound up talking for hours. Then, Dean got dressed and let Benny pick him up to deliver him to his ‘surprise’ party.

The girls were already three drinks deep when Dean was paraded in, so they were extra loud as they greeted him and playfully turned him over a barstool for birthday spankings. The crowd was boisterous and bawdy as they counted along, the girls taking turns to deliver playful swats with a wooden spoon. It was all in good fun, but by the end of thirty licks, Dean’s ass was stinging. He joked about it as he made his rounds, accepting well-wishes from all his guests. Thankfully, John Winchester was conspicuously absent.

Walking up to the Chief of Police, Rufus Turner, Dean joked, “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

“You best watch yourself,” the man crowed back at him. “I’ll sic my old lady on ya.”

“Well,” said Pastor Jim, pushing into the conversation, “that would put the fear of God into anyone.”

Laughing, Dean pulled Jim into a warm hug. “Good to see ya, Padre.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

As the two men pulled apart, Dean glanced over at Rufus and asked, “Where’s Bobby?”

The question seemed to make the older man uncomfortable, but he answered by saying, “He’s needed elsewhere tonight.”

Dean knew his father wasn’t working, so he assumed that Bobby had been assigned the task of keeping John Winchester occupied tonight… and far from the birthday festivities. It had become an unwritten rule lately… someone always being designated to babysit Dean’s father and keep him occupied so he didn’t ruin the fun for everyone else. Dean’s face warmed with embarrassment as he realized that everyone in this room had likely drawn straws to see who the unlucky bastard would be.

“So,” he fumbled, “I guess Bobby drew the short straw tonight?”

“C’mon,” said Rufus to Pastor Jim, “Let’s get the birthday boy a refill.”

Dean accepted the change of topic for the relief that it was and allowed both men to drape their arms over his shoulders and steer him towards the bar. That’s where they were still leaning when Lisa walked in, arm in arm with her new man. The two had moved in together now, so Dean’s romps with her were a thing of the past. She gave him a genuine smile as she approached though, hugging him warmly and wishing him a happy birthday. The new couple lingered with them for a few minutes, Lisa leaning into her man’s side while he exchanged pleasantries with Dean, Rufus, and Pastor Jim.

As the two walked away, headed for the dancefloor, Jim leaned in and whispered to Dean, “I always thought the two of you would wind up together.”

Dean nodded, watching them, and said, “Yeah, well, she’s better off with him than with me anyway.”

“Don’t say that, Dean. Having some family problems doesn’t mean you can’t be a good husband to the right girl.”

Doing his best not to dwell on the bigger reasons that he wouldn’t be a proper husband for Lisa, Dean accepted Pastor Jim’s words with a solemn nod. “Got a call from Sammy today,” he said brightly. A change of subject was needed anyway, and Dean was thrilled to be able to tell someone about the highlight of his day. “Things are going good for him… he just got a promotion.”

Jim smiled widely and asked, “Where’s he working?”

“That same law firm out in Cali. Him and his wife just got back from Hawaii. They spent two weeks there over the holiday.”

“That sounds nice,” Jim nodded. But Dean could see it on the man’s face… he was wondering why Sam never came home for the holidays. Dean wondered the same. But, honestly, he didn’t blame Sammy for opting out. He would too – if he could.

Pastor Jim never stayed long at things like this. He’d have a polite drink and then leave, not wanting to spend an inordinate amount of time in a “den of iniquity” as he called it. Dean got well-wishes from many, and gag gifts from a few. When things started to die down, he nursed one last beer as he stood near the door and said goodbye to his friends as they slowly emptied the bar. Benny was the last one out, tossing an arm around Dean’s shoulder and pulling him outside.

The first few snowflakes of a pending storm had been falling as they’d walked into the bar a few hours ago, and now that they were leaving, snow was piled up six inches deep on the ground. In the open spaces it was drifting heavily. Benny drove Dean home, and the two wound up creeping along behind a snow plow. The ride seemed to take forever.

“So, how’s your old man doing?” asked Benny, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Full of piss-n-vinegar,” chuckled Dean.

“Is he gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed. He knew Benny was referring to rehab. His father had recently been put on suspension by the department and given an ultimatum. Checking into treatment for 28 days was the only path for John Winchester to keep his job. “He’s never been one to make things easy one anyone,” admitted Dean.

“Yeah, least of all you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dean sighed, a foul mood starting to creep up on him.

“Can you make him go?”

Dean huffed a dark laugh, “It’d be easier to turn a nympho into a nun.”

Benny chuckled at his lousy joke and ventured to ask, “So what ever happened with you and Pam?”

“Nothing,” he answered honestly, “She’s with Jesse now. To hear her tell it, they’re gonna last forever.”

“Coulda been you,” Benny said pointedly. Dean hummed ambiguously and let the subject drop. Benny, like most everyone else who knew Dean, probably thought he was just a ladies man that wouldn’t be tamed. Generally people seemed to think that Dean’s only problem was an unwillingness to ‘settle down’. If they knew what his problem really was, Dean thought to himself, most of them would likely shun him.

Dean knew that many of his closer friends would accept him even if he came out. Benny would, he was certain of it. So would the girls. Bobby might too… though he’d probably crinkle his nose if he knew the kind of sex Dean enjoyed. But, outside the circle of his closest friends, people would likely think differently about him. They’d make jokes and call him names behind his back. And his father… Dean couldn’t even think about how he’d react.

As they pulled up to the curb, Dean thanked Benny for the ride, “and, ya know, everything.” Then he slid from the warm cab of Benny’s truck and into the deep snow that covered the ground. It was undisturbed here, no foot prints. Just a perfect blanket of white. Within two steps, Dean’s ankles were wet and freezing as the snow worked its way up under his jeans and down into his boots.

Dean waved good-bye to Benny and grabbed the shovel.  With his head buzzing and his nostrils full of crisp, fresh air – Dean started to clear the walkway. Amidst record snows, Dean shoveled a lot that January. February wasn’t much better – they had three blizzards that month. Sometimes it felt like he’d barely cleared the snow from one storm and another was already closing in. March was somewhat better, only two big snowfalls hitting before April showers started bringing May flowers.

In June, with the arrival of summer heat, the carnival rolled into town.

Dean was pretty much always on the day shift now. Because of that, his days started in the wee hours of morning. He was normally off by 4pm unless something came up, and today nothing had come up. On his way home, he’d stopped at the liquor store to pick up a fifth of whiskey and that’s when he’d seen a stack of flyers on the counter.

“When did ya get these?” he asked the greasy man behind the counter.

“Some dude brought ‘em in a couple hours ago.”

Dean picked one up and looked it over. The picture and logo had an updated look, less campy than previous years, but the content was the same. The advertisement declared Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie to be “fun for all ages” and went on to offer tickets for attractions, rides, games, petting zoo, freak show, burlesque, and even a full blown circus ‘under the big top’.

“Um, that’ll be $24.99” prompted the man behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” sputtered Dean as he realized that the man had repeated his total more than once and was waiting for payment. He passed his card over the counter and signed the receipt when it was presented. Then, as the bottle was passed to him in a brown bag, he shoved one of the flyers into it and turned to leave.

In the short walk from the cashier to his baby in the parking lot, Dean’s mind managed to fill with enticing images of himself enjoying the carnival. The most exciting thought, the one that made his dick twitch in pants, was of Alfie screaming in ecstasy as Dean speared him. He could practically hear the echoes of men moaning and grunting around him and he felt a surge of lust as he imagined himself moving out into that room… seeing the couples around him caught in the throes of passion… and being seen by others as he took down his pants and sank his hard, wet dick into a hot and willing ass.

Tonight. The carnival was opening tonight.

When Dean got home, he set his newly procured bottle on the counter. But he didn’t feel compelled to pull a glass down from the cupboard. Staring at the bottle for a moment, Dean had to wonder why he found the carnival so appealing. Honestly, it had nothing on the gay clubs in the city. Anything Mr. Crowley was peddling in tents out back could easily be found elsewhere. But, the fact that it was illogical didn’t keep Dean from swelling with excitement. With the carnival in town, Dean didn’t need a buzz to tolerate reality tonight.

Just as he prepared to abandon the bottle in favor of changing out of his uniform, there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Dean was stunned into silence. There, on his doorstep, for the first time in almost a decade, was his brother.  “Sam,” he whispered as he stepped out to embrace him. “Sammy.”

“Dean,” replied Sam, arms coming around to hug him tightly.

“Get in here,” he gushed as he pulled Sam through the doorway, “Fuck, it’s great to see you,” he added, unable to resist falling in for another hug. “It feels like forever… you look so… so…”

“It’s good to see you too, Dean.”

“I can’t believe how fucking tall you are!” cried Dean, eyes working to take in the details he’d not had a chance to survey in years and years. “And that hair! My god! Don’t they make you cut it? How can you be a lawyer with long hair like that?”

Sam was trying to get a word in, Dean could tell. But his mouth just wouldn’t stop. He marveled over the changes in his brother and, as they hugged for a third time, his happy tears would not stay locked behind his eyelids. They spilled over and ran down his cheeks. With his arms full of Sammy and content to be so, Dean didn’t even bother trying to get a hand to his face to wipe away the evidence of his utter joy in this moment.

But, when the initial excitement of seeing his brother began to pass, Dean started sensing that all was not well. In fact, something was wrong. Sam was holding a lot of tension in shoulders. His eyes were sad too. Not watery like Dean’s, leaking tears of joy, but troubled and heartsick. For a moment, Dean wondered if something had happened. Maybe his brother was sick, or his wife had died, or he’d been fired…

“What is it, Sammy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” growled Dean, “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Um, well –

“Sammy.”

“It’s Sam. Dean, call me Sam.”

“Fine. Sam. What’s goin’ on? Why are you here?”

“Can’t a guy just swing in to visit his brother for no reason?”

“Yeah,” grumbled Dean, “you would think so. But apparently not, or you woulda done it sooner.”

“Okay,” relented Sam. “I guess I did have an ulterior motive for coming. But, before I get into that, can we just do something together? Just you and me?”

“Sure Sammy- I mean, Sam. Yeah, we can do something. Got anything in mind?”

“I do, actually. Feel like a drive?”

“Always,” he grinned, “but you mind if I change first?”

“Sure,” Sam allowed. “But let’s hurry and go before dad gets home. I’d rather not see him right now.”

“He’s got a shift tonight,” replied Dean, taking off his shirt as he walked down the hall to his room. “We won’t see him ‘til dawn if all goes well.” Dean stepped into a pair of jeans and one of his favorite t-shirts. Having traded his black work shoes for regular boots, he headed back out to the kitchen where he’d left Sam.

But, as he moved down the hall, movement caught his attention and Dean saw that his brother had left the kitchen and was now standing in his old bedroom. Observing quietly from the hall, Dean watched Sam move about the small space. He touched his hand to old toys and games he’d once loved, the quilt on his bed. Then, he sat down on that tiny bed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Dean ached to take some of the burden from him – whatever it was.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

They headed for the Impala and as they climbed in, Sam asked when Dean had to be back.

“I’m off ‘til Monday,” he answered. “Got in enough seniority to have the best shift – I pretty much work Monday through Friday now, and I’m almost always off by 4.”

“That’s great Dean, really. So, are you seeing anyone?”

“No one in particular.”

“Anyone on a regular basis?” pressed Sam, seemingly searching for a hint of monogamy.

“Not really.” As he said it, Dean realized that his merry-go-round of girls had slowed to a stop. First Lisa, then Pam, both of whom had been relatively steady sex partners, had quit seeing him to settle down with someone. Additionally, the number of random hookups he pursued had dwindled too. Now, with his brother asking about girls, Dean couldn’t think of a single name. Not even one girl the last six months. Maybe longer.

In hindsight, Dean could see that he hadn’t really been keeping up his pretenses. No wonder people were starting to drop hints about him settling down ‘with the right girl’. He’d been setting himself up for it. No one in town had seen him with a conquest in a long time. That must include his father – though the man may not have noticed. He certainly hadn’t said anything.

Without even meaning to do it, Dean had allowed himself to narrow down his wide variety of partners to exclusively encompass men. Granted, it was only men that he picked up in bars. In secret. Far away. But it must mean something - perhaps he was more tired of keeping up appearances than he’d let himself believe.

“Where are we headed?” he asked Sam. The question had been asked partially to break the silence, but also so he’d know which direction to drive.

Sam’s answer was soft, barely audible over the sound of the engine. “Lawrence.”

“Why?” asked Dean. After all, they’d not been back there since the funeral.

“I want to visit Mom,” he answered, not meeting Dean’s eye. “I want to put flowers on her grave.”

Dean’s chin quivered at the thought and he worked to keep his face from crumbling. He’d wanted, so many times, to do exactly this. But their father had forbidden it from the very beginning. And, like so many other things, Dean could see now that he’d kept to John’s way even when he’d been old enough to depart from it. But, with concentrated effort, he could disregard his father’s wishes. He’d proven that to himself when he’d started leaving town to fuck men. So, he realized, if he wanted to go visit his mother’s grave, all he had to do was get in the car and go.

“Okay, Sam,” he agreed. “Let’s do it.”

On the highway leading out of town, the car was quiet. The air hung heavy between the brothers, both of them lost in thought. John had moved all over the country in the years following Mary’s untimely demise and Dean couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that when they’d finally put down roots somewhere, they’d done it less than three hours from her resting place.

It was early evening when they rumbled into a quaint little flower shop at the corner of West Ninth and Indiana. The boys wandered through the store without saying much. When the saleswoman stepped up and asked Sam if she could help him find anything, Dean watched his brother sprout tears and ask her in pinched voice for the most beautiful bouquet she could make. After a few aborted attempts to pin Sam down to a certain type of arrangement, she seemed to realize what the flowers were for. She made suggestions for him and he nodded affirmatively for most of them. The finished product was primarily pink with some accents of yellow. It was way too big, but still tasteful, and as he watched his brother hand a platinum card over the counter to pay, Dean could not swallow the lump in his throat.

Dean found himself choosing something already made, but no less extravagant. It cost more than he normally spent on the electric bill. Walking to the car, he realized that whether they’d meant to or not, they’d both been trying to make up for all the times they hadn’t come to do this.

The sun was sinking low in the sky when they got back on the road. Across the Kansas River, north of town, was Maple Grove Cemetery. Dean looked around as they rumbled through the entrance. His mother’s final resting place was sandwiched between a series of warehouses belonging to a seed-corn company, and the Kansas Department of Transportation. The entire area had an industrial feel and the sacred grounds were not well tended. The grass of the small lot was patchy, a mottling of brown and green. A single lane looped around the rectangular lot, barren but for a few medium sized trees.

“No wonder dad would never bring us here,” whispered Dean as he navigated around the circle, “He was probably hoping we’d forget how dumpy it is.”

“You’d think he would’ve picked somewhere nicer,” replied Sam, his voice surprisingly neutral considering how critical of John he’d always been.

“Probably couldn’t afford it,” Dean supplied, stepping into his old role and making excuses for John.

“Probably,” agreed Sam. “I’m sure he did his best.”

The sun was setting as they parked and climbed out of the car. It wasn’t hard to locate her stone because Dean remembered the odd shape of a tree that stood near it. He’d been staring up at it while they stood graveside during the small service, a lifetime ago. The boys placed their flowers on either side of her headstone and knelt down in the cool grass before their mother. Neither spoke aloud, both caught up in their own contemplations. Each in their own time, the boys wept. Dean didn’t bother trying to hide his tears from his brother and when Sam leaned over to hug him, Dean let himself be embraced. Together they shared the sorrow of it… of being here… of having never been here… of all they’d lost… and all _she’d_ lost… and for the utter waste of it all. It had been dark a long time when they finally walked back to the car.

Initially, the ride back home was silent. All the things that had been left unsaid between the brothers hung heavy in the air. Then, as the drone of the tires on blacktop faded to white noise, they started talking. Really talking. Sam filled in the gaps for Dean, telling him the backstories and details that just didn’t make it into letters and phone calls. Dean answered questions that Sam said had been nagging at him for years.

Why did he always stick up for John? Because it hadn’t felt right to let Sammy think the worst – even if that would’ve been more honest. Why had he continued to try and play father to Sam even after he’d been told it wasn’t welcome? Because he didn’t know any other way to act. It was impossible to see a need and not fill it. Why hadn’t Dean ever stood up to his father? That, he had to admit, he had no answer to. After all, it was an issue that still plagued him. The honesty was refreshing and the longer they talked, the more comfortable Dean got. It was so much easier now, with both of them grown, to speak as equals… to be on the same level. To just be brothers.

Then finally, with the walls down like they’d never been before, Dean looked over at his brother and found the strength to say, “Sam, there’s something I gotta tell ya.” He could feel his brother looking at him in the glow of the dashboard lights, but he chose to keep watching the road ahead as he forced out the words. “The thing is, well. It’s just… I’m gay, Sam, and I’m tired of trying to hide it.”

Sam didn’t speak for quite a while. When the silence stretched out too long, Dean couldn’t help but look over at his brother, wondering if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. But he hadn’t. Sam just looked over at him and said, “Okay.”

Over the next few minutes Dean’s body started to relax. The silence grew into a comfortable one. Eventually Sam asked, “How long have you known?”

“Since our first carnival,” admitted Dean. Sam waited on him, clearly wanting to hear more, so he continued. “We were sneaking around by the peep show, tryin’ to ditch those carney’s that were chasin’ us. At one point, I thought I was holding your hand. But I looked over and saw it wasn’t you – it was Cas. And he looked at me like he thought I’d meant to do it, ya know? Like he thought we were holding hands just cause I wanted to. And I did, I guess. But I was embarrassed. So I let go.”

“Wow, Dean, that’s a long time to keep a secret like that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So, do you… I mean, do you have someone?”

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“Just Cas.”

“How often do you see him?”

“Um, just once since that night. It’s complicated.”

“Do you plan to see him again?”

“I hope so, someday. Maybe. Every time the carnival comes to town I think about it.”

“The carnival’s in town now,” said Sam softly and Dean could feel his brother looking at him again.

“I know.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Figured I would.”

“Well,” pushed Sam, “do you think you’ll see him?”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a something important to tell you too.”

“Ok, what is it?”

“You’re gonna want to pull over.”

Knowing that his brother was about to drop a bomb on him, Dean didn’t question the need to stop the car. Whatever horrible news had brought Sammy back home, he was about to share it. He remained silent and tried to stay calm as he searched for a place to stop. Soon enough, he found a gravel road. Navigating the Impala off the highway he turned onto it and parked on the darkened shoulder. Turning off the engine, Dean looked over at his brother. 

Sam didn’t mince words. “I’m dying, Dean.”

Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and the walls of his chest tighten. He’d been afraid that Sam’s homecoming wasn’t really a happy one, but he hadn’t expected this. Questions flooded his mind, each less important than the last. He wanted to know all the answers at once, uninterested in trying to find the presence of mind to prioritize his concerns. Like a spinning wheel, Dean’s mind circled through a jumble of possible words until it settled on the one that seemed most important. When. That was most important, he decided.

Dean needed to know how much time they had. But when he opened his mouth ask, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe either. With panic welling up inside of him, Dean focused on taking a breath. It took a concentrated effort to will his body to inhale. When he finally did, the sound it made was ragged and desperate. On the exhale that followed, he managed to choke out his one word question. “When?”

Silent in the seat beside him, Sam reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring but it wasn’t.

“Sammy,” he pleaded. “How long? How long do you have?”

“Not long. A few days maybe?”

Days. Sammy’s time was measured in days. When he’d heard the words, “I’m dying,” Dean’s mind had immediately gone to cancer… or some other disease that would rob his brother of life at an early age. But even in the worst cases of that, he’d likely have months ahead of him. There would be treatments, there would hope. At least a little. But, days? It couldn’t be real.

“What is it?” he asked, unable to even imagine a scenario that left them so short on time.  

“You’re not going to believe this,” began Sam. “I can hardly believe it myself. But it’s true, I promise you Dean. It’s true… and I’m in deep, deep shit.”

Dean gave a nod, trying to show that he was ready to listen.

“I’ve sold my soul to the devil and my time has run out.”

“W-what? Wait. What?”

“I know,” breathed Sammy, “it’s so unreal, right? Like to even hear myself say it, it seems ridiculous. So, believe me, I know how this must sound to you. But that’s what’s happening. The guy who runs the carnival… Mr. Crowley… he’s not just a guy, Dean, he’s the devil.”

From deep inside, Dean felt a stirring of hope. This had to be a joke. A rotten one, but a joke none-the-less. Sam was telling him this so that the real news would seem almost pleasant in comparison. He huffed once, tentatively looking at his brother and waiting for him to fess up to the ruse. Instead, Sam continued. “He’s the devil, Dean. The real and honest-to-god devil. D.E.V.I.L. Devil.”

Dean was speechless, but as he looked at Sam’s face and saw that his brother was serious, it was too easy to believe. Something about this was credible. It rang true. Not logically maybe, but on a base level at Dean’s core. Some underlying part of Dean, the part of himself that he rarely acknowledged, the part that believed in God. That part believed Sam without question.

With acceptance granted in his gut, logic started to work on getting his rational mind to accept the truth as well. Pastor Jim’s words over the years had not fallen on deaf ears. Dean may not think much about it consciously, but he _did_ believe. And if he believed in God, then he had to believe in the devil. When Dean looked up at his brother, Sam must’ve seen that acceptance on his face because he began talking again – explaining.

“When I met him, I knew right away that there was something off about him. He knew things, Dean. Things I’ve never told anyone. Things I’ve only _thought_.

Dean nodded, encouraging his brother to keep going.

“He said he could give me everything I’d ever wanted. And he did, Dean. You can see that, right? There’s no other explanation for how someone like me could have the life I’ve had.”

“Well that’s bullshit, right there,” snarled Dean, jumping at the chance to dispute things. “First of all, you got a scholarship. You don’t owe Crowley for that. Lots of kids get scholarships – it doesn’t mean they’ve made a deal with the devil.”

“I got a scholarship to Stanford, Dean. One I never even applied for. And you know how it was with me… my grades weren’t even good enough to get accepted to a school like that… let alone to win a scholarship. But I got one. And that’s not all. I was given the nicest housing and the best of everything, right down to the food. Dean, scholarship kids just don’t get the stuff I got. They still have to do work-study every week. They have to take out loans for stuff that the scholarship doesn’t cover. They have to bust their asses to keep their grades up or they lose their ride. But not me, Dean. Those rules didn’t apply to me.”

“So, you didn’t have to study and you just passed?”

“I hardly opened a book the whole time I was there. But every time I sat down to take a test… the answers just came to me. It was as if I had studied. I knew the material. I did okay in school and, Dean, even now that I’m done with school… I always know exactly what to do. I’m a damn good lawyer and I love my job.”

Dean sank down in the seat. “I always knew you were a smart kid, Sammy.”

“I can see that now. If I hadn’t made a deal with Crowley, I still could’ve still done most of what I wanted to do. It wouldn’t have been easy, but I could’ve done it. Ya know? I could’ve studied hard and gotten a scholarship. Maybe not to Stanford, but to a decent school. I still could’ve been a lawyer. And if I’d done it on my own, I would’ve had my whole life to enjoy it. But instead, I took the easy way. And now, I’m going to die.”

“It’s all my fault. I made things too easy on you. Dad was too hard and I was too easy. No one really showed you the way…”

“No Dean, you couldn’t have done more than you did. You were great – the best big brother there ever was. But here’s the thing - when I was at that carnival, I wanted out of our shitty life here. I wanted it bad, Dean. And he knew it somehow. He knew exactly what to say… and what to offer. And he knew I was a fool – that I’d eventually say yes.”

“Sammy –

“No Dean, don’t argue. I was selfish and stupid. I can see it so clearly now. I wanted to be a powerful man, rich and respected. I wanted to be like those guys on TV that everyone looks up to. And Crowley promised me power – said he could tell that I would use it for good. He was playing me, though. He knew that I’d be selfish. He was right about me. I’ve been selfish and now I’m getting what I deserve.”

“It’s not selfish to want a better life Sam.”

“But that’s the thing… it’s not really a better life. And it _was_ selfish. I mean, I’m just getting to the age where it’s time to have kids. Ruby’s been asking me since I finished school. But I can’t do that, can I? Knowing that I only had ten years, how could I possibly have said yes when she asked me to have kids with her?”

“Ten years?”

“Yeah, that’s how long he gave me. Ten years to enjoy the good life and then he’d take me. It sounded like a long time when I was seventeen. But now here I am with a budding career and a wife that loves me so fucking much – and it’s like, my life is just starting and I’m already out of time.”

Dean watched as Sam finally broke down. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he said, “She’s gonna be lost without me. I’m her happily-ever-after, she says that all the time. And all she wants is to have babies with me and she doesn’t understand why I won’t. But how can I, when I know that it’s almost my time? Dean,” he pleaded softly, “If I had gone ahead and had kids, they would’ve grown up without a dad - just like we grew up without a mom. And ya know what else? I never thought for a second about what it would do to her or to you or to dad when you lost me. But now, it’s all I can think about.”

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. He surveyed the stitching on the bench seat of his beloved car instead.

“I didn’t realize it at the time, because I wanted what Mr. Crowley was selling me. But now that I’m older I understand what this is… what I’ve agreed to. When he takes me, Dean, he’s taking me to hell. So now, it’s not even just about saying good-bye anymore or leaving people behind. Dean, I’m fucking scared. I don’t wanna go to hell.”

“Sam,” Dean implored, “there’s gotta be something we can do.”

“I wish there were,” his brother whispered through tears.

“No,” Dean whispered, feeling anger swell up on Sam’s behalf, “No way. No. Fucking. Way.”

In the seat beside him, Sam was quiet now. He was looking down at his lap, probably waiting for Dean to go berserk and yell and scream and cry. Honestly, Dean could feel all that coming. But he knew that Sam was resigned. It was all over his face. He would wait through Dean’s emotional outbursts and when he’d cycled through all the emotions and finally come to acceptance, that’s the moment that Sam would look up and give him the final good-bye.

“You don’t get to do this,” he griped angrily. “You don’t get to just show up and put this on me. You’re not gonna just dump your shit on me and then skulk off to turn yourself over to the devil. You’re gonna fight this Sammy. We. We are gonna fight this. Crowley may be the devil, but he’s gettin’ his smarmy hands on you over my dead body.”

“Dean –

“No Sammy. You don’t get to just give up. You’re gonna fight. Now, think. What can we do?”

“Nothing, Dean. There’s nothing.”

“Bullshit. There’s always something. Haven’t you ever seen a damn movie? There’s always another way.”

Leaning back in the seat, breathing heavily from his rant, Dean’s body was starting to hum with adrenaline. As the moment stretched out, he felt the beginnings of a plan forming in his head.

“We’ll just pay him back,” continued Dean, his brain starting to churn, “He’s spent a shit-ton of money on you and he’ll want it back. If we give it to him, he’ll have to let you out of the deal.”

“Even if he’d let us get away with that, we’d never be able to scrape together that kind of money. Do you have any idea how much Ruby and I have spent over the last decade?”

“Fuck, Sammy, we’ll steal it if we have to. We’ll rob a goddam bank or an armored car or something!”

“Dean!” his brother shouted to cut him off.

Looking over, he could see that Sam’s eyes were pleading with him, begging him to see the lunacy of trying to buy his way out of the deal.  

“Then why are you here?” Dean demanded, his mind racing a mile a minute. “If you think the dude is after your soul, then you should be back in Cali. You should be thousands of miles away from here.”

“With all he can do, Dean, do you really think it matters where I am? He’ll find me.”

Dean closed his mouth and tried to swallow. On some level, he knew that Sam was right.

“I got this in the mail,” said Sam, unfolding something from the pocket of his shirt, “It had no return address, but I know what it means.”

Dean looked at the paper when Sam handed it to him. It was a flyer for Mr. Crowley’s carnival.

“I got this because my time is up,” added Sam as Dean looked it over, “He’s calling me back. If I don’t go like I’m supposed to, he’ll drag me there somehow. Better to go quietly, I think. At least this way, I got to say good-bye.”

At that moment, the realization dawned on Dean. Good-bye. That’s what this was. Coming to visit, seeing his old room, buying flowers for mom, visiting her grave, even the fact that he’d been honest with Dean about what was going on… these were all just his brothers way of tying up the loose ends of his life and saying good-bye.  

“Sammy,” he croaked. “Sammy, no.”

“You’ve been so good to me, Dean, I mean it. You are the best big brother I could have had and I love you.”

“I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t just say good-bye and let you go.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“The fuck I don’t,” he bristled, turning towards Sam in the seat and forcing his brother to look at him, “You can do what you want. But I’m not giving up on you. I’m a cop. I’m gonna go down to that fuckin’ carnival and see what I can sniff out. If Crowley’s comin’ for my baby brother than he’s gonna have to get past me first.”

Sam nodded, eyes falling back to his lap again. He wasn’t speaking, but Dean could see that he was back to feeling resigned to his fate. He must know that Dean had to try, but he didn’t seem to think anything would come of it. At least he wasn’t fighting it and telling Dean to stay away from the carnival. With his silence, he was agreeing to let Dean investigate.

With Sam sitting small in the passenger seat, Dean started up his baby and headed for home. He’d take the night to think and make plans. Then, tomorrow morning, he’d walk through the gates of the carnival again. This time, he wouldn’t be there as a customer. He’d be there as a man of the law.

When they pulled up to the house, Dean made Sam promise him that he wouldn’t go to the carnival until the very last day. He also made his brother swear that no matter how crazy the scheme, if Dean came up with a plan, Sam would go along with it. They hugged before parting, each to his own room. As Dean flopped down on his bed, he was already working up his plan of attack for tomorrow. The digital clock on his nightstand read 2:57am. He wondered if Sam would be able to sleep. Perhaps he hadn’t slept for a while – maybe that’s why he looked so rough. No wonder Dean had assumed his brother to be sick. He was every bit as eaten away with worry as any terminal patient.

Pulling out a piece of scrap paper, Dean crudely scribbled out what he could remember of the carnival’s layout. He was surprised by how much he remembered about some things and how little he remembered about others. Then, his mind did something it often did when the carnival crossed his mind. He thought of Castiel. Allowing himself one moment to close his eyes and think of his boy, Dean then banished all thoughts of anyone but Sam and Crowley. He focused his attention on the rudimentary drawing and tried to come up with a plan. Hours later, when the sun came shining through his window, he was no closer. He got up anyway, dressing quietly. He cleaned his gun, intending to bring it along. Even while doubting a gun would do him any good against the devil, Dean found it impossible to leave home without it. Before leaving, he peeked in on Sam. He wasn’t asleep, just deep in thought, eyes raking over the walls of his childhood room. Dean didn’t disturb him.

The sun was bright and the day was growing hot quickly. It was the second day of the carnival and Dean had his flyer with him. He glanced at it several times as he crossed the parking lot and stood in line to enter. A sweaty woman with a missing tooth took his cash, counted out his change, and put a black-light stamp on the back of his hand. Trying to be strategic, Dean avoided the midway for now. He wanted to see the things he’d never seen before. 

He walked slowly through the games, watching for anything unusual over the heads of eager children and harried parents. Most of the times he’d been here, Dean had been swept away by the spectacle of it all… the bright lights and sound effects, the fast talking carney barkers, the brightly colored food trucks. But, with his attention focused on looking past those things, the magic was gone. He saw dirty counters and greasy equipment, tattered and ill-fitting costumes, clown makeup sweating off in the heat, roadies lugging heavy crates behind the scenes with ugly tattoos and plumber’s butt hanging out, greasy custodians picking up trash and cursing as they tried to fix things that were broken. 

Turning away from the remainder of the concourse where the rides lay, Dean took the fork in the road. Yes, this led to the peep show and the sex-for-sale. But that wasn’t why he’d taken this path. Those, he’d already seen up close. This time, he passed those tents and wandered to the one whose flapping banner declared it to be filled with “Oddities and Curiosities”. Nearby was another tent. That one had a line out the door and around the side. Its sign proclaimed it to be the “Freak Show.” Dean wandered first through one and then through the next. Like the peep show and its secret partner tents, these were patrolled by intimidating men. Up on the midway, the ticket takers were cleaner. Most wore striped shirts and name tags. Here, the help looked like a prison chain gang on steroids.

Dean paid his money and walked through the house of oddities. Even if his mind hadn’t been caught up in other things, it would have been mildly entertaining at best. Cases of ‘artifacts’ were lined up with signs proclaiming the contents to be ‘genuine’ and ‘one of a kind’. Some, like the mummy, were obviously fakes. But then others were very real – like the two headed piglet in a jar of formaldehyde and the hand with seven fingers on it which was also sealed into a jar of preservative. Around him, gawkers cringed at the sights and teased each other for flinching.

The side show was small, but had many people watching. They clapped feverishly and whistled for the talented man flinging knives a spinning wheel. Strapped to his wooden target was a scantily clad woman and all eyes were on her. Moving down the row, Dean also saw a sword swallower and a pair of jugglers who calmly tossed flaming batons between them. The crowd was immersed and spellbound. It was a pickpockets dream.

The freak show was much quieter. Those who’d paid money to enter seemed almost contrite as they moved between stalls to peek in on living people. No one was really talking as they shuffled through, casting a glance at real people, ones who’d either been born hideous or had contracted some rare and horrible disease. He felt guilty for even looking and a sickening sadness washed over him for those whose day to day work involved sitting here and letting people see their disfigurements for money. There was a bearded lady, of course. Though Dean knew she could likely take hormone therapy or something like it, here she was. There was also a thin man. Thin was no joke. He looked like a skeleton, spidery limbs moving splayed out in a pose that was engineered to look as creepy as possible. There were two tiny twin girls, no more than two feet high, sitting in miniature lawn chairs and watching a tiny black and white television. Each held a fly swatter, keeping the pests off them as they lingered here for everyone to gawk at. There was even an alligator man. Dean wondered, as his eyes roved over the scaly skin in its unnatural shade, if this was some rare skin condition or if the man had somehow modified his body to look like it did. He had metal studs pierced into his face in several key places so it seemed safe to assume the latter. When he exited that tent, Dean had to sit down for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he’d entered the sideshow, but that hadn’t been it. In hindsight, he realized that he’d always assumed the exhibits to be fake. The fact that they were real made them extra disturbing.

Glancing at his watch, Dean realized that it was almost show time. He bought a lemonade and began hiking up the long path toward the main part of the carnival. In doing so, he left the adults-only section behind him. Gladly. He hadn’t even walked past the tents where sex was for sale.

Back at the main concourse, Dean stopped short. There, right before his eyes was a woman he’d not seen for more years than he could count. “Ellie?” he said as he stepped up to her. She turned to look at him, but didn’t seem to recognize him at all. “It’s me, Dean Winchester. Remember? I worked one summer at the Granville Ranch… you used to manage it, right?”

“Oh yeah,” she said vaguely, her eyes darting to him for a second before falling back to the line of people shuffling past her. He watched her for a second, dressed in a carney shirt and taking tickets as noisy kids pushed past her and onto “The Super Screamer.”

“Wow, so what made you want to quit the ranch and take up carnival life?”

She didn’t even look at him when he spoke to her this time, just gave a shrug and ignored him in favor of counting heads. He stood watching until she halted the line and closed the gate. With a blank look on her face, she leaned into the microphone and blandly told all the riders to keep their hands and arms inside the cars and then leaned back to wait while other workers walked among the riders checking safety belts. When they gave her the go ahead, she pushed the start button.

“Well, I guess I’ll be movin’ on then,” he said as he stepped away from her. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement but beyond that didn’t seem to pay him any mind.

At first it was weird to him that she’d not greeted him more enthusiastically. They’d actually been pretty friendly over the summer he’d worked the ranch with her. He’d mostly been shoveling shit all day when he was there. But they’d ridden together a few times, had a few good conversations. He remembered her fondly and had expected her to feel the same. But, as he crossed over the midway and took another path, he realized that she was probably embarrassed to be seen working rides at a carnival. Especially considering how grandiose her dreams had been back in the days when he’d gotten to know her.

The path he was on seemed to lead to the circus stuff. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb here since he was the only adult in the entire section without a child in tow. He barely glanced at the petting zoo. It had only one sad worker present and he knew if he stopped to watch for long, he’d wind up just feeling sorry for the animals. He passed the pony rides for the same reason. But, up ahead, was the big top. It was by far the newest of the tents at Crowley’s carnival and it was the largest as well. It’s red and white stripes gleamed, brand new, in the sun and colorful flags whipped from the top of each peak.

As he neared the entrance, he fell into a slow moving line. As it shuffled forward, he watched the elephant rides where huge majestic beasts labored in the hot sun, while the people waiting in line stood in the shade of a tent. Closer to the entrance was a separate line for kids who wanted to meet a clown. They could get a balloon animal made and get their picture taken… all for a price.

When Dean finally reached the front of the line, he walked between two antique train car circus cages. Inside them, lions and tigers paced in the small quarters and kids pressed up to mesh wire fencing that kept them standing a respectable distance from these man-eaters. He paid his ten bucks and then walked into the huge open area of the tent. It was a bit cooler here then it was outside and Dean bought a cold drink and a bag of popcorn from the concessions seller when he passed by on the bleachers. His eyes skimmed over everything – there was a lot to see here. High above were the trapeze wires and sound system, lights and rigging. The tent was divided so that the audience all sat on the north half of the tent. There were three rings in the middle and then a backdrop. It seemed safe to assume that behind the backdrop was an open area where the various acts would prepare and wait for their turns.

Dean watched the security carefully, noting how often the clowns who guarded the doors were walking the perimeter and which ones stepped forward to turn away gawkers who tried to access the wrong parts of the tent. Before long, the bleachers were almost full and Dean found himself wedged between two families. Neither seemed to want him anywhere near their children and that was fine with him. Keep the snot-nosed, sticky-fingered brats away for all he cared.

When the music queued up, Dean turned his gaze to follow the line of clowns that walked in, single file, and began waving to all the kids. They performed a short routine, basic vaudeville type stuff, and then they danced out of the ring to throngs of laughter. Elephants came in next, also single file. Each used its trunk to hold the tail of the one in front of it. They formed a circle and then a spotlight flared up, highlighting the trainer in the center. He got them to turn circles and bow, pausing for applause. Then he put them through the paces, getting them to stand on their heads, step up on giant overturned buckets, even squirt each other with water from their trunks. Audience laughter swelled to epic heights when, at the trainers signal, the elephants all turned their trunks on the trainer and soaked him too.

Dean rolled his eyes at it, irritated. He’d seen the hidden camera reports about the barbaric training practices that circus people used. The way the act made it seem like the trainer and the animals had some kind of a whimsical and fun-loving relationship made Dean want to gag. When the animal dancing and clown theatrics were finished, a deafening drumroll began. Then, with a crash of cymbals, Mr. Crowley appeared from a puff of smoke. The crowd cheered around him at the spectacle and Dean watched closely as the man strode around the ring, microphone in hand, enthralling young and old alike. Acrobats dressed in brightly colored leotards began dancing out into the center ring with Crowley. They weaved around him theatrically as they tumbled and tossed one another into the air. Shifting uncomfortably on the bleachers, Dean had to admit there was something familiar and unsettling about the man. The closer he looked, the more he started to feel like the ringmaster was watching him too. It was unnerving.

“Come one, come all,” he said brightly to the crowd. “Strange and wondrous magic awaits you at Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie.” The line was familiar, and Dean felt like he’d heard it somewhere before. Remembering to look around and not pay too much attention to any one thing, Dean let his eyes rove over the outer parts of the tent again. The clowns who had opened the show were now moving out into the audience, peddling helium balloons shaped like animals, cones of cotton candy, and striped bags of popcorn. With an eye roll at the blatant commercialization and profiteering, Dean returned his attention to the ring master and felt himself suddenly frozen in the man’s pointed gaze. He felt like Mr. Crowley was speaking just to him. “Here at Mr. Crowley’s we know all your hearts desires, and we help them come true for both maids and squires! What is it you want? What is it you need? Tell Mr. Crowley and he’ll take heed! So if you have a dream no matter how grand, come see Mr. Crowley and he’ll give you a hand!”

Like a lightning bolt, a long-forgotten dream flashed to life behind Dean’s eyes. How he’d ever forgotten or suppressed it, Dean couldn’t even imagine. But there was no denying it now – Sam wasn’t the only one who’d been in the presence of the devil. Sam wasn’t the only one who’d been offered a special kind of deal. But, unlike Sam, Dean had declined the strange offer. By some trick of his mind or some magical spell from Crowley, Dean’s mind had buried the memory of it. But, having heard the man’s voice again, seen his eyes, the events long buried had come crashing back into his conscious mind. The entire thing was real and he knew that now. He’d almost made a deal with the devil. Ice cold fingers of fear and dread crept up Dean’s spine as he realized how close he’d come to saying yes.

Locked in place by fear, Dean could only watch as the evil man strode about his arena. His heart clenched for Sammy. Poor Sammy. His brother had said he was in deep-deep shit. His brother was right. The longer he stayed seated, feeling Crowley watch him, the more his fear mounted. He knew it was time to flee. His instincts told him that Mr. Crowley knew he was there, knew he remembered, knew he was watching him. Maybe he thought that Dean had changed his mind and come back to accept a deal – or perhaps he knew that Dean was here to save his brother. Or, was he imagining the recognition he saw in those calculating eyes? Regardless, it was time to go. Finding the will to rise from his seat, Dean stood and shuffled his way down the row, stumbling a little over the tangle of feet on the bleachers.

At the end of the row he was able to move quickly down the steps. Upon reaching the bottom, Dean didn’t look back at the ringmaster down in front or pay any attention to the acrobats that were now performing on wires in the air and on the ground simultaneously. He simply kept his eyes forward and headed for the exit. He didn’t dare look behind him as he left, either. Already he could tell that things were different. Along with the onslaught of memories, Dean felt as though a veil had been lifted. He was seeing things differently. It was noticeable first with the big cats that paced in their vintage circus cages. Then, as he moved back out into the daylight, he saw it on the elephants that lumbered around with a metal basket full of kids on their backs. It was in the faces of every pony giving rides and every carney he passed. The sight of it made him sick. Suffering. Anguish. As plain as the nose on a face. But worse, the eyes of each were simply more human and more aware than he’d previously been able to see. The truth was a crushing weight. These were souls. The countless men and women who had accepted Crowley’s offer and had their dreams come true for ten glorious years… these were them. Stuck here for eternity as part of Mr. Crowley’s three ring circus. Everywhere Dean looked now, he saw nothing but sadness so profound that it fissured his heart.

Glancing behind him for the first time in thirty paces or so, Dean noticed a clown trailing him. It was bald with a sad face painted on and giant red shoes. The lumbering ox was closing the distance, outpacing him. Wondering if he was being paranoid, Dean sped up and hooked a sharp right, briskly walking around the outside of the fence that housed the elephant rides. Then, approaching from the opposite direction, he saw another. This one was more colorful, but under its gaily painted face, the thing wore a menacing scowl of determination. As he contemplated the idea that the clowns were after him, Dean’s mind flashed back to Sammy and his crippling fear of clowns. On the heels of that came another memory… the night of their first carnival when little Sammy had complained that a creepy clown was following him. Perhaps Sammy had been seeing something Dean hadn’t – even as a very young child.

When a second clown joined the colorful one ahead, Dean noticed the single-mindedness of their movements. It was unmistakable. Both were trained on him and moving to intercept. Finding himself outnumbered, he turned back. Easier to push past one evil clown than two, he thought. But, to his amazement, there were now three clowns barking at his heels. Through creamy makeup and cartoonish frocks, malevolent eyes were set upon him. Adrenaline surged and his heart began racing; panic welled up in him and blurred his mind as he tried to think clearly.

With all doubt of pursuit erased, Dean broke into a run. Swerving to evade oblivious carnival guests and maddeningly persistent clowns, Dean hooked and dodged with no logic. He was running on instincts alone now. Long strides soon found him back at the big top tent, circling its perimeter. With half a dozen clowns in pursuit, he ducked into the first set of unguarded flaps he came across – pushing through the entry point with one hand on his concealed weapon. Half a dozen paces inside, the clowns surged in on his tail. Trying not to look behind him, Dean marked a path through the crowd on the bleachers and launched himself up into the stands. The clowns didn’t follow, instead they tried to flank him. They split up and began moving to cut him off from exiting. As he cut worked his way through the crowd, Dean wondered what they’d do if they caught him. Would they really carry him out screaming in front of all these people?

As he clamored over parents and kids and the trash at their feet, Dean kept one eye on his path and one eye on the ring where Mr. Crowley was now narrating the spectacular air show. Garbed in pink and blue and green, acrobats were flinging each other between trapezes and from one set of clasped hands to another. Circling the ring were fire-eaters, garbed in black and white clothing and makeup. It was quite a spectacle. With all eyes on the show, no one was paying any attention as he altered his path more than once to evade a clown that had managed to come around and cut him off.

Finding himself near the bottom tier of the bleachers, Dean abandoned his planned path and took a flying leap. A six foot drop, at least, to grassy ground beneath the bleachers. His knees popped as he landed, but held him. Pushing up from a crouch, he darted for the nearest exit, praying the path stayed clear this time. Heading for another unmarked flap of the tent, Dean hoped beyond reason that it was an exit. He had no idea what lay outside, but he hoped for nothing more than a few seconds head start at this point.  As he came running up on the possible exit, two giant bouncer-clowns lumbered into view. There was no way he’d be able to push through them. There was no stopping either. He couldn’t be taken alive… he just couldn’t. Sammy was waiting for him at home. He had come here to save his brother and he couldn’t do that if he was taken prisoner. Pulling his gun from his waist, he thrust it out ahead of him and shouted, “Get down, now!” 

To his surprise, both of the men dropped to the dirt at their feet in compliance. Like he’d been shot from a cannon, Dean flung himself through that flap and out into the hot summer sunshine. He found himself in a small space between the big top and the pony rides. Behind him, Dean could hear an uproar under the big top. He’d caused that when he pulled his gun in a room full of people with kids. No point in putting it away now, right? In for a penny, in for pound.

With his weapon in hand, Dean set out at a dead run. He had no idea where he was going, either. Around him, bystanders shrieked. Women grabbed their children and pulled them out of harm’s way - everyone cleared a path for him. A glance behind him left him unable to count the number of pursuers. Some were dressed as clowns, some were wearing the striped shirts of vendors and others were dressed as civilians. Perhaps they were. Rounding the end of the pony paddock, he darted off in the general direction of the main concourse. All around him, a voice he now recognized came over the speaker system and addressed the entire venue.

“Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please - there has been an incident on the grounds involving an armed man. Please do not panic. Proceed quickly and safely to the nearest exit. If you see an armed assailant, do not try to interact or intercede. Please allow our security to handle the issue. The police have been called.”

Dean wanted to spit nails. Crowley was smart. He’d never get out of here now. All around him were witnesses. They were watching what they thought was a madman with a gun, terrorizing a veritable playground full of young children. There would be no sympathy for him from a single person here. Dean tore down the path towards the midway, keeping his gun out in front of him. At least it kept people out of his way as he tried to escape. If he were lucky, he’d be able to find some semblance of cover down where there were rides and booths and crowds instead of these wide pens with lines of people standing around them with nothing else to catch their attention.

It wasn’t a good idea, but his addled mind could think of nothing better. He could take off running over an empty field if he wanted, but where would that get him? Out in the sticks and far from his car, that’s where it would get him. He’d never be able to hide. The police would follow the pointing fingers for his direction and a man-hunt would ensue. His county would pool its resources with neighboring ones to track down the mad man who’d pulled a gun in a circus tent full of kids.

Dean hadn’t run like this since he was a boy. His feet were flying and his heart was pumping blood like a machine. The crowd parted for him, everyone falling back to let him run through. His hope of some cover… some booths to duck between… some commotion to get lost in… it lay just ahead. Feeling his lungs burn with exertion, Dean prepared to change course, ready to snap to the left as soon as he passed the first booth. That’s when a brown blur shot into his peripheral vision. It was fast, every bit as fast as he was, and it flung itself at him. Unable to avoid the collision, Dean felt his feet come off the ground and his body tangle with a hairy beast.

Around him people screamed and in the chaos of the moment, Dean almost dropped his gun. He managed to keep it with him as he hit the ground, a tangle of limbs that rolled end over end twice before finally coming to a stop. Neither Dean nor the hairy animal that had collided with him stayed down. Both of them struggled to their feet and fought for control of the weapon. It was impossible to believe, but it happened. Before Dean’s own eyes, a giant gorilla snatched the gun from his hands. Stumbling backwards, knowing he was beaten, Dean turned his body in preparation to flee and his feet barely kept up. He didn’t get three steps before he saw his own gun leveled at him and a huge hairy arm reaching out. In shock, Dean’s mouth dropped open as the fist of an ape gripped his shirt and pulled him forward. “On your feet,” it growled at him. “Run, run, run!”

In fear of being shot at point blank range by the gorilla, Dean worked to make his feet to comply. Despite moving, the beast kept shoving him, keeping him perpetually off balance. As he was pushed fitfully and forcefully he saw the dark opening of the haunted house looming ahead. It seemed to be where they were headed, though it was difficult to tell where they were going with such an erratic path. To the observers around them, it probably looked like the two were fighting, but Dean was completely rattled. He was completely on the defensive, unable to even keep his balance long enough to get a good swing in. As the dark entrance came nearer, he wondered what would happen once he passed through that doorway. But, he knew there would be fewer witnesses. Every fiber of his being willed him not to go into the dark. With that thought in mind, he began really putting up a fight. “Go!” shouted the gorilla, still trying to shove him in. “Fucking go!”

He went, because there was no other choice. As he twisted around to at least slow down their progress, Dean finally realized that he wasn’t being handled by a talking gorilla, but rather by a strong man in a gorilla suit. In a matter of two breaths, he’d been shoved into the dark. Seeing nothing in the pitch black he staggered, unable to find footing or sense his body’s position in relation to the floor or even his attacker.

Breath was punched from him as his body slammed forcefully into a wall. He was being turned by invisible hands and he couldn’t see at all as he was pushed deeper into the dark maze of the haunted house. He worked to orient himself. Screams filled the air, though it was difficult to tell if they were part of a soundtrack or coming from other people within the attraction. As he worked to keep his balance and not lose his head, someone said his name. “Dean.” It was a familiar cadence. A welcome one. “It’s me,” said the voice. At that same moment, he inadvertently stepped on the trigger for a strobe light. It flickered brightly in the dark, lighting up scary faces all around him. It also illuminated the gorilla who was pulling his mask off.

Astonishment swept over him first, then relief in equal measure. “Cas?”  

“Oh Dean, you sure know how to make trouble don’t you.”

“Oh fuck, it’s good to see you,” he whispered, leaning into a hug.

“There’s no time,” his friend hissed, pushing him away. “Move!”

Dean turned to let Cas pass him and then followed as the man expertly maneuvered through the haunted house. As they slid through narrow passages, Cas was stripping his suit off. Dean could only see what was happening in small bursts when their movements would trigger some spooky scene to life. But, as they moved, Cas shoved something soft into Dean’s hands.

“Step into it,” he ordered. “It’s like a jumpsuit.”

Dean looked down and did his best to follow instructions, fumbling in the dark. Ahead, he saw a thick line of light in the shape of a square and then with a clunk, a panel in the floor was pulled up. Cas was standing over a trap door. He’d been changing too. Cas was no longer an ape - he was a clown. Dean stepped forward and leapt down into the square of light. His knees popped again when he hit the hard ground. Then, the weight of another body crashing down on top of him sent him sprawling. Blinking at the blindness that came from plunging out of darkness and into bright light, Dean scrambled to get his feet under him.

When he was able to get his bearings, Dean realized that the haunted house was built like a semi-trailer. Likely, it was simply attached to a truck cab “as is” and driven from one venue to the next. Around the bottom of the trailer was an aluminum ‘skirt’, likely added each time it was parked to hide the wheels under the haunted house. They were inside the skirt now, hidden from all the eyes that had watched them enter.

There wasn’t enough room to stand, so they crouched. “Here,” said Cas, thrusting a colorful wig at him. Dean took it, knowing what he was meant to do. He pulled it on over his head as Cas did the same with the one in his hands. “Keep this on you, but hide it,” his friend instructed, handing his weapon back to him. Dean nodded and worked to push it inside his clown suit. Then, he was following Cas on his hands and knees. Ahead of him, Castiel quietly opened a small metal panel and crawled out. Following, Dean realized they were on the backside of the trailer. In one fluid movement, Cas closed the panel they’d emerged from and took Dean by the hand. They moved towards a corner of the trailer, both walking like normal.

Looking around, Dean saw that to their left was a wide open field. At the other end of it was the adults-only section of the carnival. Over the loudspeaker, Crowley’s voice was still reassuring guests that the police were on the way and that everyone should remain calm and proceed to the nearest exit. Cas was peeking around the corner of the trailer slowly. When he turned back to look at Dean, with blue eyes matching the wide sky above, he reached out and handed him something. A small tube. Dean couldn’t help but smile as Cas winked at him. Watching for half a second, Dean caught on to the plan. He stood still while Cas put his finger to the black tube and then to Dean’s face, painting black makeup round Dean’s mouth with the pad of his finger. He quickly did the same around each eye and then waited for Dean to do the same to him. In a matter of seconds, they’d gone from a gorilla and mad gunman, to a pair of clowns. Hastily drawn clowns, sure, but clowns just the same.

To Dean’s utter shock, Cas grabbed his arm, pulling him out from behind the trailer and into the crowd. Everyone’s eyes were on the two dark doorways that decorated the audience-side of the attraction, one an entrance and the other an exit. Those with children had fled, presumably to an exit. But a crowd of onlookers comprised mostly of teens, younger adults, and carnival workers had been enthralled enough to stay and watch what would happen. “What’s going on?” Cas asked another carney.

“Somebody got the gunman,” he answered, not bothering to look away from the haunted house as he spoke. “Dragged him into the haunted house.”

“Wow,” whispered Cas. “Who got him?”

“Dunno,” he replied, sounding dazed. “Whoever was wearing the gorilla suit today, I guess.”

Dean moved with Cas as he sidled slowly through the crowd, giving the appearance of someone who was angling for a better view. Pausing briefly next to a ticket taker, Cas asked, “Has anyone gone in after them yet?”

“Not yet,” he answered in a daze. “Crowley keeps saying the cops are on the way, but you know how he is. Doubt he called in the townies.”

Dean watched Castiel with amazement. He was doing what Dean had failed at. He was blending in. With all eyes focused on the haunted house, Cas tugged Dean gently away. They walked purposefully slow, moving along the stalls that lined the concourse and stopping periodically to ask other bystanders what was going on, what had happened, or if security had caught the gunman yet. It was brilliant. Within a few short minutes, they’d made it almost all the way to the entrance. Dodging the ticket line all together by moving down the gauntlet between long rows of portable bathrooms, Dean followed along when Cas ducked into one.

It was a tight fit, two grown men jammed into such a confined space. The smell was overpowering and for half a second, Dean wondered if this had simply been the safest place to finally kiss. But, again, Castiel surprised him. The man reached around behind Dean and tugged off a long string of toilet paper. Maneuvering around Dean’s elbow, he then flipped a lever on the makeshift sink and held his wad under the trickle to wet it. With a ball of soaking toilet tissue, Cas leaned in and began wiping clown makeup from Dean’s face. Having caught on, Dean collected a fistful from the roll with the intention of reciprocating. But Cas stopped him saying, “Leave mine on.”

Dean fell silent while Cas finished. “Take off the suit,” added Cas when he’d finished. Dean did as instructed, Cas taking the suit from him while he transferred his gun back to the rear waistband of his jeans. He watched Cas toss the clown suit down into the bottom of the shit box and shrug. When their eyes met again, Cas’ seemed deeply saddened. That’s when Dean realized that they were about to say goodbye. The thought was abhorrent.

“You should be able to leave now, Dean. Just exit as though you’ve used the facilities and walk to your car. It’s unlikely anyone will recognize you if you just stay calm and blend in with the others who are leaving.”

“Come with me this time,” he said earnestly.

“No Dean. You know I can’t.”

“Cas, I know what this place is now. Don’t ask me to leave you here again. I can’t do it, I just can’t.”

“You can and you will,” answered Castiel gravely. “If you really know what this place is, Dean, then you know you can’t save me.”

“You haven’t even let me try,” he pleaded.

Castiel took Dean’s face in his hands and said, “I thank you, Dean, for caring about me. I’m happy with what we’ve shared and the knowledge that you once loved me gets me through my days. But I’ve saved your life today. Don’t thank me for it by costing me mine.”

Unable to argue, he pressed his lips to Cas and embraced him fiercely. “I didn’t love you once,” corrected Dean when they pulled apart, “I love you still. Probably always will.”

 

 


	5. A Devil's Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say, again, that I'm very grateful to Destiella for all the work she puts into this. I'm sure everyone trying read this story appreciates her effort as well. 
> 
> Also, a shout out to Acklesfan. You've made my night!

                                                                                      

 

Leaving Cas behind was like acid in his mouth. But Dean had his brother to think about. It was thoughts of saving Sam that propelled Dean’s heavy feet forward as he moved away from Castiel and threaded through the chaos of the carnival parking lot. Between frenzied mothers and upset children, Dean cut a path to his baby while keeping a low profile. Exiting the grounds took longer than he would’ve liked, but he tried to be patient so as not to draw attention to himself as he made his escape. Keeping a close eye out for anyone suspicious approaching his vehicle, Dean idled cautiously through the gridlock and out onto the county blacktop. When he was finally free of the grounds, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Headed towards home, Dean contemplated how to save his brother. His mind churned, turning the problem over in his head and re-examining it from all angles, but any plausible strategies evaded him. He was powerless against this foe, having nothing to offer besides his own determination. Dean was simply out of his depth.

So, he did today as he’d done many times before when feeling overwhelmed. He went to Pastor Jim. He hadn’t even known that’s where he was headed until he'd passed his own street and driven halfway to the church. But as he slowed and stopped for a red light, Dean realized that it made sense to go to Jim. After all, Crowley was evil. Who better to assist than a man of the cloth, right?

With determination, Dean stepped on the gas the moment the light was green. His driving became progressively more aggressive as he neared his destination. He squealed into a parking space and covered the ground to the front doors in a wide stride. He didn’t pause politely to hold the doors open for the little old lady who was shuffling out as he pushed his way inside and he didn’t bother knocking on the office door before flinging himself through it.

“Dean,” greeted Pastor Jim with a start.

“I need a word, Padre,” he breathed heavily.

“Come in,” the man answered, shuffling papers around on his desk.

Dean didn’t flop into a chair as he probably would’ve had his concerns been lesser. For example, if this was some issue with his father, he may have dropped down and hidden his face behind his hands as he spilled his troubles to this man, this trusted adviser. But not today. There was no way to force his body to sit down and be civilized as he tried to unload the truth about the carnival.

“Dean –

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as he paced back and forth. It was difficult to figure out where to even begin. Sam’s description of the issue, he decided, was perfect. “It’s just, well Padre, I’m in deep shit. Deep, deep shit.”

“Dean,” said his mentor in a calming voice, “why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s going on?”

“Um, I don’t think I can,” he answered honestly, but he did manage to stop moving for a moment. He turned to face the man behind his big wooden desk and suddenly realized how old he was. Weak. Grey-haired. Probably a few years past retirement. Funny, Dean had never really noticed it before. Jim had been part of their lives since he and Sammy were just little kids. Nostalgia washed over him in that moment, and gratitude, always having felt safe and secure in his presence. Unlike the handful of teachers and DHS investigators who had tried to intervene over the years, Dean had never wondered about Pastor Jim’s motivation or intentions.

“I can’t…” he began, trying to find a starting point. How could he even begin to explain the situation without sounding like a complete lunatic? How could he come to this man of God and tell him that true evil lurked so close, its tendrils wrapping around someone they’d both worked so hard to protect all these years.

“Yes, Dean,” said the pastor, getting to his feet to come around the desk, “You can tell me. It’s alright, son, you know you can talk to me.”

His face was replete with concern as he closed the gap between them. Gesturing to the two chairs facing his desk, Pastor Jim was beckoning Dean to sit down with him side by side. For a moment, Dean felt his body aching to slide into that chair and spill out his troubles. But then, fear began to claw its way back up from his stomach and into his chest. Unable to tamp it down, he resumed pacing. Jim stood still and watched Dean for a few trips back and forth, just waiting for Dean to be ready. Feeling Jim’s unspoken support, Dean finally willed himself able to speak.

“I know this is gonna sound crazy,” he began, “but it’s true.”

Jim nodded, not taking his eyes off Dean as he walked down and back.

“There’s evil out there Padre, and I don’t mean just garden-variety rapists and murderers. I mean there’s honest-to-god evil in the world. I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

Jim nodded again, accepting his statement as fact.

“Sammy’s had a run-in with the devil.” As he said this, Dean stopped moving and rested his eyes on the Pastor. He breathed in and out a few times, waiting for a reaction. None came. The silence stretched out for a long time.

Likely realizing that Dean wasn’t going to speak again until Jim did, the man finally opened his mouth. “How so?” he asked.

“Bear with me,” husked Dean, starting to pace again. “This is hard to get out... ‘cause I know you’re not gonna wanna believe it. But I need you to believe it. I need you to, because you’re probably the only person that can actually help me save my brother.”

“Just spit it out,” said Jim firmly. “Trust me enough to just say it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Feeling he was as ready as he was ever going to be, Dean finally stepped up to a chair. Taking a deep breath, he sat down on it and looked over at his Pastor. “The thing is, Sammy thinks he sold his soul to the devil.”

Jim didn’t blink. He just waited. Waited for Dean to explain more.

“Ya know, I haven’t seen the kid in damn near ten years. But he blew into town yesterday and started dumping this crazy shit on me.” Seeing Pastor cringe a little, Dean worked to temper his language. “Sammy said that the guy who runs the carnival is actually the devil in disguise and that when I took him there, the guy offered to make his dreams come true in exchange for his soul. He says he didn’t really know what he was doing at the time… he was only seventeen. So, he agreed. Now he says that his time is up and he’s been called back to the carnival. You shoulda seen him, man, he was sick with it. I’ve never seen him like that. Not even when we were kids.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. I went to the carnival and, and, and something happened there. I had, well, I dunno what I had. Maybe a flashback? But anyway, I remembered some stuff. And I think, I think Sammy is right. The ringmaster, he offered me something too. He knew that I…”

“Yes?”

 _Wow. Probably should’ve led with me being gay._ “He knew that I, well, that I have thoughts sometimes,” Dean hedged, “He knew that I lie to people, to everyone, so they won’t know what I really am. He knew that about me and he used it. He tried to get me to sell my soul. He offered me things he knew I wanted in exchange. I – I said no. Of course I did. But I guess…”

“Your brother didn’t.”

“No. He didn't. He said yes. To the devil.”

Again, there was silence. With the words spoken, Dean felt himself relax marginally. At least he’d gotten it out. Dean almost chuckled as he watched Pastor Jim get to his feet and start pacing as he'd just been doing.

“It can’t be,” Jim said softly. “It can’t,” he repeated more firmly as he paced, “It just can’t be.”

Dean felt his body sink miserably into the chair. Pastor didn’t believe him. Hopelessness began to set in.

“It can’t be the devil,” continued Jim, walking back and forth behind Dean’s chair. “He’s bound in a pit. The scriptures all agree… his influence plagues the earth… but he doesn’t walk it.”

Dean felt himself starting to perk up again. Pastor wasn't debating what was happening to Sam, only the specifics of it. Turning his head, Dean peered at his mentor.

“But,” the man added, still pacing, “there’s a substantial history of soul selling. There have been more tales of it than we can count… quite a few testimonials… some surprisingly candid admissions…”

Dean turned his entire body now, focused on the pastor who wasn’t even looking at Dean as he continued pacing faster and faster, his hand held to his forehead as he talked, more to himself than to Dean.

“Yes,” he was saying, “I had a book once… what did I…?”

Dean watched the man break his pattern of back and forth to step over to one of the tall bookshelves lining the walls behind his desk. He scanned over the spines of books, looking for the one he wanted.

“Oh yes,” he said, looking back at Dean, “That’s right, I lent it to Pastor Dan. He thought a member of his church was beset by a demon.”

Dean sat up straighter as he watched Jim pounce back into the swivel chair behind his desk and turn towards his computer screen. The man’s fingers clicked on the keyboard and a scowl of concentration spread over his face.

“Look, Dean, see?” he prompted, turning his screen so that Dean could lean in and get a look. “This one… this is one of the most famous accounts. Saint Theophilus of Adana, also known as Saint Theophilus the Penitent. In his humility he passed up the offered position of Bishop. However, the man who wound up taking the position made his life miserable beyond measure and out of desperation, Theophilus sold his soul to put himself into the position he'd once been offered. He spent the rest of his natural life trying to undo the contract, seeking assistance from the church. He was scorned and ridiculed even as he fasted and attempted to purify himself. Eventually, another Bishop burned the contract and proclaimed his soul to be free. It is said that he died on the spot, relieved to be free. I’ve always wondered if he really was.”

“Damn,” whispered Dean. Glancing up, he saw the pointed look that the Pastor gave him and, again, worked to control his language.

“Here’s another,” said Jim, returning his attention to the screen, “Italian violinist Nicolo Paganini. His talents were such that despite his protest, most believed him to have sold his soul to the devil for his gift. He was denied last rights and refused a proper burial.”

“That seems unfair,” mumbled Dean, “especially since he didn’t admit to selling his soul. People were just jealous of his talent and blamed the devil.”

“Well,” replied Pastor, “You might be right. But, the music he wrote and played was so complex that even when he was only 22 years old, there wasn’t another violinist in the world who could play his pieces. Not one.”

Squashing down the urge to say, ‘damn’ again, Dean shifted his weight in the seat. Both men returned their eyes to the screen.

“Antoine Rose, Christoph Haizmann,” continued Pastor Jim, “it continues into modern times. Robert Johnson, Bob Dylan, Roseanne Barr, even Jay-Z and many of the acts he's brought to fame.  Dean, the list is endless. There’s singers and actors and rappers that have all admitted to selling their souls. The general public probably thinks these people are joking when they say it, but it's not a joke.  If this many people will acknowledge the deed publicly, think of how many there are that live in secret.”

“I really didn’t think you’d believe me,” whispered Dean, grateful to his mentor.

“What’s not to believe?” asked Pastor Jim, “If we know of the light, we must also acknowledge the dark. To deny it is foolhardy.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” mused Dean, “It’s just – it’s so…”

“I know. But, I don’t think that your Mr. Crowley is the devil.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I think he’s a demon.”

Dean was stunned at the matter-of-fact way that Jim was handling their discussion.

“It’s strange though…” he continued, still skimming the text online as he spoke, “… strange to imagine a demon in such a public personification. I mean, most of the tangles that humans have with demons are the result of possession. A human can be vulnerable to possession for any number of reasons, but even the vulnerable are usually strong enough to put up a fight when they feel themselves being taken over. They’ll have bouts of clarity followed by a total loss of self at the hands of the demon. But, rarely, the demon can take over completely. In my opinion, those cases are under reported. The demon, once successfully in charge of a human host, is cunning. It separates itself from loved ones – often by distance or anger or both. Then it lives as it pleases… generally in the pursuit of pleasure. I often wonder how many serial rapists and killers are, in fact, possessed humans. But, as you can imagine, they lead a stealthy life and stay well hidden. They don’t generally put their own names front and center on advertisements and invite masses of the public into their midst.”

“Jim,” said Dean, stunned by his words, “It sounds like you’ve given a lot of thought to demons.”

“I have. Once you’ve seen it… that evil… the world looks different. It’s impossible to go back to thinking of things the way you did before.”

Dean nodded. Jim was absolutely right. He knew that no matter what happened with Sam, he’d never see the world in the same way he had. It would forever be a darker place.

“I actually have a friend who’s more knowledgeable. His daughter succumbed to a demon years ago. Sadly, he wasn’t able to save her. But it was her situation that pulled him, and thus myself, into the study of demons. Now he uses his knowledge to help others. We should get in touch with him and see what he has to say about Sam's situation.”

“Is this the one you lent a book to?”

“No, not the same friend. This one is more… hands on.”

“Where is he?”

“Minnesota. At least, that’s his address. He travels a lot, goes where he's needed.”

Dean pulled his chair closer to Jim’s desk and leaned forward as he watched the pastor dial a number on his telephone and put it on speaker. From the small and dimly lit office, the two called Jim’s longtime friend Pastor Gideon. The man sounded gruff over the phone but very knowledgeable. Dean could hear the guy rummaging through books and turning pages, moving from one volume to the next as he answered their questions.

More and more, Dean wanted Sam to be present. He wanted to run home and grab his little brother, bring him over here so he could be reassured by how much collective knowledge they actually had about their enemy. It would give the poor guy hope, Dean was sure of it.

There came a point where Gideon cut them off, saying he needed a few minutes for a parishioner. They all agreed to speak again in a few hours. When they’d hung up, both Dean and Jim sagged with relief. Already they had lots of useful information.

Demons are powerful, Dean had already known this from having met Crowley. But, as he had just learned, they are not infallible. There were weapons to use against them, ‘tools of the trade’, Gideon had said.

Jim told Dean that he’d head to the city and visit a shop that Pastor Gideon had recommended in the hopes of picking up a few books and specialized items. In the meantime, Dean was tasked with rounding up a healthy list of commonplace items that he’d be able to track down at the local hardware store. The two hugged briefly but tightly as they parted company.

“Thanks Padre,” whispered Dean.

“Of course, my boy,” nodded Jim. “Now, you get home and get your brother before you start rounding up supplies. You stick with him too – keep a close eye on him.”

“I will,” he promised as he stepped away

It took less than ten minutes to get back to his house. As he entered passed through the kitchen and headed down the hall to Sam’s room. He was genuinely surprised to find it empty, expecting Sam to be where he’d left him: on the bed and staring at the walls with listless eyes.

Stepping into the room, Dean saw the only evidence that Sam had been here at all… the slightly mussed covers on his old bed and a folded piece of paper at the center.

Picking it up, Dean read the note that his brother had left for him.

_Dean,_

_If you’ve been to the carnival, then you either think I’m crazy or you know that I’m not. Either way, there’s nothing you can do to save me. But, I love that you wanted to try. Ruby’s in town and she’s got no idea what’s going on, so I didn’t want to leave her alone too long. I’m going to spend some time with her. Don’t worry, I’ll come back and see you before I go. Thanks for going with me to see mom._

_Love, Sam_

Anger surged in Dean as he read the note. He’d been told to take care of his brother but had no idea where he was. He had things to tell him too… things that seemed like good news. Irritated, Dean was tempted to crumple the letter up and toss it to the floor. But, for some reason, that seemed inappropriate. After all, if the worst happened, how would Dean feel if he had to un-crumple the last words his brother had ever written him? Reverently, he placed the note right back where he found it. Taking his phone from his pocket, Dean pulled up Sam’s number and hit the call button. Generally, calls to his brother went to voicemail and were returned at a later time. Today was no exception. Even angrier now, Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket while grumbling about people who have cell phones and don’t bother answering them.

Deciding to get started, Dean headed to the kitchen and pulled out a bag. Using the list he’d made with Jim, he began moving through the house and taking what needed. Once he’d gotten what he could from home, it was time to head for the hardware store. As he was sliding into the car, his cell rang.

“Thank fuck,” he grunted as he dug into his pocket expecting it to be Sam. Glancing at the screen he was disappointed to see that it wasn’t. It was Bobby.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Sorry to do it,” huffed Bobby on the other end of the line, “but I gotta ask ya to come down to the station.”

“What is it?”

“Your old man. He just came in for his shift. He didn’t come home last night did he?” asked Bobby flatly.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. He smells like a dirty ash tray and he’s three sheets to the wind.”

“Bobby, this ain’t the best time.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to make time. I can’t cover him right now, I’m sorry son.”

“Can’t ya just throw him in the drunk tank or somethin’?”

“Not if you’d like him to keep his job, Dean. He’s used up all his warnings. He’s been through detox. There’s nothing I can do to cover for him anymore.”

“Yeah, alright,” he snapped as he hung up, “I’ll be right down.”

Biting off Bobby’s head wasn’t fair. The man shouldered far more of John Winchester’s burden than he should have to. But with everything going on right now, how could Dean not be pissed. Really? Was this his life? He’s in the middle of trying to save his brother from a demon and he has to stop what he's doing and go pick up his drunken father from the police station? “Fuck my life,” he muttered.

Slamming the door and peeling out of the drive, Dean headed for the station. He parked on the curb and strode in past the front desk. As he passed Benny’s desk, he noticed his friend just getting ready to punch out. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked.

“Sure.”

The two headed to the back. With a silent nod of acknowledgment to Bobby, Dean bent down with Benny and hoisted his father up from the floor. He’d been leaning against the wall, eyes drooping and words incoherent. Dean rolled his eyes as he and Benny pulled the heavy man up to suspend his weight between them. They walked him quickly out the back door, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

“Bobby was right,” griped Dean. “He smells like an ashtray.”

“An ashtray full of cheap whiskey,” chuckled Benny darkly. “Should teach him a lesson one of these times.”

“Whatcha got in mind?” asked Dean as they cut along the side of the building and back towards the street.

“Take him out to Granville Ranch,” suggested Benny. “Dump him in the manure pile. Let ‘im wake up covered in shit and flies instead of warm on your damn couch.”

“Ben,” replied Dean, choking back a genuine laugh, “I like the way you think.”

“My shift is over,” he said as they worked together to coax John, still clinging to consciousness, into the backseat of the Impala. “Let me go back in and punch out. I’ll help ya with ‘im.”

“Deal.”

With Benny heading back into the station, Dean returned to the task at hand, picking up his father’s feet and shoving them up into the vehicle so he could shut the door. His father was still mumbling softly as Dean settled into the driver’s seat.

When his friend slid into the passenger seat, Dean said, “Look man, I gotta stop at the hardware store. Can you babysit while I run in there?”

“Sure thing.”

Practically running through the store, barely in control of his shopping cart, Dean made sure all the items on his list were accounted for. He quickly paid with a credit card and left, stowing the items in his truck before climbing back in the car. John was out cold now, snoring in the backseat. The two friends exchanged an anticipatory grin and shrugged as Dean gunned the engine to pull out of the parking lot.

The ranch was just a mile or so up the road from the small rental house that Dean and John called home. That’s why he’d chosen to work there as a teen… it was in walking distance. Once upon a time, it had likely been far out in the country. But over the decades, as the town had grown, the sprawling acres of pasture and paddock had been encroached upon by new subdivisions.

It was nearing dusk when they pulled in, taking the entrance that delivery trucks used to avoid being seen by the residents of the main house. Dean pulled up behind the oldest stable where the big manure pile was located. As a team, he and Benny lifted John out of the backseat and carried him over to the pile. Both were laughing heartily as they laid the man out in his smelly bed. Not content to leave him like that, Dean grabbed a nearby shovel and threw a few heaping loads onto the man’s body, letting out a low whistle as he backed up to survey the damage.

There was a single moment where Dean felt a twinge. It happened as they were driving away. If he’d been alone in the car, he might’ve even driven back to retrieve his father. But, with Benny by his side, it was a matter of pride. With his chin held high, Dean ignored the pang of guilt and drove back towards town.

“Drink?” his friend offered when they arrived back at the station.

“Man, I can’t this time,” lamented Dean, “But, thanks Ben. Rain-check.”

“Anytime brotha,” grinned Benny, stepping away from Dean’s car to climb into his own vehicle. Dean waved to his friend as he pulled away from the curb, leaving his arm hang out the window as he rumbled down the main drag. It was dark as pitch when he pulled back up to the church. The lights were on though, and not just the one in the steeple. Pastor Jim was here.

Pulling his bags from the trunk, Dean headed inside. Jim was in his office, desk covered in books. Gideon was on speaker phone again while Jim followed his friend’s verbal narrative through several books. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the stacks of opened texts strewn around the desk, some closed with little tabs of paper stuck out, presumably marking important passages. Dean pulled up a chair, but never got the chance to sit.

“Here,” said Jim firmly, passing a large book to Dean. “Make a copy of this page.”

Dean followed the man’s pointing finger back out the door of his office and towards the area where a secretary normally sat. In a small alcove near her desk he found a copy machine. Touching his finger to the small green light, Dean brought the machine out of sleep mode. It took more than one try to find the appropriate position to lay the book down and produce a decent copy, but when he carried it back into the office, the pastor was holding out another for him. Dean moved back and forth between the office and the copier again and again over the next few hours. He made copies of strange symbols, a lot of which appeared ritualistic and menacing. He also copied large chunks of text and references to other books that they didn’t possess. All the while, he listened to the discussion between these two pastors, picking up bits and pieces of their discussion which sprang back and forth between folklore, obscure biblical texts, ancient books, pagan rituals, catholic exorcism case-studies, and eye-witness accounts.

Dean’s head was spinning with all he overheard. As the darkness crept closer to dawn, Dean found himself assigned to the secretary’s desk where he was given the eye-blurring job of performing internet searches to track down the passages they needed from books they didn’t possess. When the sun began to rise, Dean heard Pastor Jim finally say a heartfelt thanks to Gideon for his help and bid the man goodbye. Emerging from his office, Jim said, “How ‘bout a quick coffee break?”

“Sure,” said Dean as he pushed away from the desk. “Make mine Irish.”

Jim chuckled and the two headed down the hall to take a leak. When they returned from the men’s room, Jim pointed Dean towards the coffee station and told him to brew a fresh pot. When he had two steaming cups in hand, Dean returned to find Jim sitting in the secretary’s swivel chair with an overflowing trash can between his legs.

“Shred party,” the man chuckled. “I’m afraid the staff will find all of this material very disconcerting.”

Dean nodded agreement as his eyes roved the product of hundreds of photo copies of pagan symbols, writings, and dark things Dean himself had printed from the internet. “The stuff we’re really going to need is on my desk,” said the pastor. “Can you take over shredding the stuff we're not keeping and I’ll go put the rest in order?”

“Sure thing, Padre.”

When he’d finished shredding, Dean tried to restore the secretary’s desk to order and then ambled back into Jim’s office with fresh coffee for them. He wasn’t used to being up all night anymore, having been on the day shift for quite some time now. His body was sagging and he needed the caffeine they were pounding down. When Dean entered the office, Jim was bent over a small stack of boxes, packing away the books they’d been pouring over all night. Dean settled into a chair and waited for the man to finish. Then, looking over the expanse of the heavy wooden desk between them, Dean dared to venture a question that had been nagging at him all night. “Are we any closer to a plan?”

“Well, let’s talk about that,” Jim sighed, leaning back to sip from his Styrofoam cup. “I’m guessing you’ve been chewing on it all night. What thoughts do you have?”

“I got nuthin’,” admitted Dean. “I mean, you’re right. I’ve been thinkin’ on it all night. But I’m no closer to a plan now than I was when before I came to you… back when my plan was to rob a bank and buy his contract.” Dean was surprised to feel himself chuckle at the thought. It was strange to find any humor in the situation, but there it was. The humor was in his previous naivety.

“Wait,” said Pastor, leaning forward, “you might have something there.”

“I was kidding,” he retorted. “Even if I could pull off a robbery and get my hands on the money, Crowley would never take the offer.”

“You’re right about that,” nodded Jim. “He doesn’t want money. But, that might be our way in.”

“In?”

“Yes. In.”

Dean watched as Jim rose from his chair and began pacing behind his desk. “That’s what I was getting hung-up on each time I considered a plan,” mused Dean. “There just wasn’t any way I could think of to get past all the clowns and carneys so I could get to Crowley.”

“If they thought you were there to make a deal of some kind, they might let you pass,” said Jim.

“I don’t see why any of the goons would care _why_ I’ve come,” Dean replied cautiously. “They all know my face now. They’ll be watchin’ for me. When I walk back in there, they’re gonna take me.”

“Or not,” sighed the old man, “I mean, sure, if you walk in there waving your gun around, they’ll be inclined to use force. But ultimately, they’re under Crowley’s control. If you come in quietly and make it known that you’re here to meet with Crowley, it seems likely that they’d simply let you see him. Especially if there are lots of people around.”

Dean’s mind started churning as he contemplated the idea of walking into Mr. Crowley’s Carnival with nothing but the premise of having come to buy his brothers soul back.

“What would I do,” he ventured, “when I actually got to Crowley’s tent?”

With that question hanging in the air, Jim bent his head to his desk and began rifling through the stacks of papers on it. “This,” he said firmly as he passed Dean a photocopy of a strange looking symbol, “I think this is our best play. Gideon agrees.”

“What is it?” he asked, eyes roving over the picture. It was basically a circle with some variation of a star laid inside. Symbols decorated the empty spaces within the circle. To his untrained eyes, it simply looked like dark magic. Pagan, perhaps, maybe even satanic.

“It’s a Devil’s Trap,” said Jim. “We’ve got multiple texts from credible sources spread over centuries, and all of them agree that once a demon is inside the circle, it cannot escape.”

“So, what?” pressed Dean, rubbing at an itch on the back of his neck that had been bugging him all night. “We somehow re-create this symbol on the ground then? In his tent?”

“Well, yes, I think so. Maybe we can paint its likeness onto a shower curtain or table cloth… something that can be hidden under your shirt. Then when you’re in his presence, you can lay it out like a rug.”

“And he’ll just step on into it for me, huh?”

“No. You’re right. It’s not that easy. But, it’s the best thing we’ve got so far. We can’t just exorcise him back to hell. It takes hours, sometimes days, and several men of the cloth to exorcise even a low level demon from a human. He’s not going to just stand there and take it. That’s why possessed people are bound to beds and chairs. Without restraint, they climb right up the walls and ceiling. They attack. Or, they escape. But regardless, our only chance at exorcising this demon is to find a way to keep him restrained and I think we both know that ropes aren’t going to do it.”

“Then why did I buy ropes and chains at the hardware store, Padre?” joked Dean.

“I just –

“I know,” chuckled Dean, “we’re both just grasping at straws here.”

“We know so much more now than we did yesterday, Dean. I have hope that we can save him. Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said honestly. “I do. Thanks to you.”

“You’re very brave Dean, always have been.”

“You too Padre. I mean, Sammy’s my brother. Of course I’m gonna do what I can to save him. But you? You’re just helping us out, like you always have. I think that makes you a lot braver than me. You know,” he added, “I never could figure why you do the things you do, ya know? Why you always took care of us the way you did – why you even cared about us.” As he said the words, Dean’s mind was sifting through memories of Pastor Jim coming to their aid.

“As your pastor,” answered Jim, “I am meant to be the visible hand of God that reaches out to you. I’m not just here to read you a sermon on Sundays. I’m here to show you God’s love for you. He does love you Dean, and so do I.”

Starting to feel his throat tighten with emotion, Dean sought to deflect the man’s attention before he wound up crumbling under the weight of it. “Yeah,” he joked, again finding humor where there ought to be none, “no good deed goes unpunished, right?”

The emotional weight of the moment was finally broken, not by Dean’s sad attempt at humor, but by the sound of the front doors opening. Both men turned towards Jim’s open office door and watched as the secretary walked into view, dropping off a pastry box on her desk before heading to stand in the doorway. Dean watched Jim turn over the top sheets of paper on each stack that cluttered his desk, making sure that none of the scary things they’d spent all night looking at were visible.

“Good morning,” she said to them.

“Good morning Becky,” answered Pastor. “The coffee’s already made.”

“I brought bagels if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” they both answered in unison. With a smile, she stepped away, turning to sit down at her desk. As she sank into her usual work, they helped themselves to warm bagels from the box and retreated back behind Pastor’s closed door to resume planning. That’s where they spent the next few hours. When it was time for a scheduled counseling session, the pastor sent Dean back to the hardware store. This time, with a much more specific list that had been created by the two of them as they’d hashed out the early stages of a plan. Neither had said so out loud, but it seemed safe to assume that tomorrow night would be the night. After all, that was the last night of carnival. Sam was expected to show up by then and give himself over to Mr. Crowley. Based on their reading so far, it seemed that showing up was in Sam’s best interest. If he had to be dragged there, it would be bloody.

As he stepped out of Jim’s office, Dean checked his phone. Nothing from his brother. The lack of communication was frustrating. But, admittedly, if Dean were living his last few days, checking messages would likely not be at the top of his priority list. Without further thought, he forgave his brother for being out of touch… even now.

Despite a fresh caffeine buzz, fatigue was setting in and his grungy clothes were making him feel miserable. He decided to stop at home on his way to the hardware store and take a shower.  Doing so would serve the dual purpose of waking him up a bit and making him feel a little better. It would also give him a chance to check the house and see if his brother had been back there. Leaving his baby parked on the curb, Dean headed inside. He wasted no time, checking the house as he walked through to see if anything looked different than it had when he’d left. His father, had he managed to stagger home from the shit pile he’d left in, would’ve been passed out in his usual spot if he were here. But no, the living room was quiet as a grave. Sam’s room was also undisturbed. Moving past it, Dean was already shucking his grubby clothes. He grabbed a towel from the tiny hall closet and closed himself into the bathroom.

As he peeled out of his nasty clothes and stepped into the shower, the stillness of their residence started to rake on his nerves. He began to entertain the idea that it was foolish to have come back here alone. Honestly, it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to think that Crowley had been able to find out where he lived and come for him… maybe send a pack of goons to capture him. As he lathered soap into his hair, Dean laughed out loud at the mental image of being dragged from his home and stuffed into a clown car.

When he rinsed off and climbed out of the shower stall, though, the silence of the house quickly went from unnerving to ominous. He started humming a Zeppelin tune to placate himself - to keep his ears from picking up every little sound and making the worst of it. It didn’t do the trick. Toweling off, he paused for every creak of their old house and every muted noise that filtered in from outside. Dean found himself startled, jumping as the sound of a car door from the street surprised him.

Wrapping a towel around his waist as he prepared to exit the bathroom, Dean found himself growing nervous. With one hand poised on the door knob, Dean fell silent and waited. As he stood indecisively, he would swear that he felt a malevolent presence lurking on the other side of the door. Holding his breath, Dean listened carfully. His ears searched the unsettling quiet. But if there was someone out there – they were holding their breath too. Stealthily, Dean bent quietly to the floor, sorting through his discarded clothes for his gun. He exhaled a breath as he disengaged the safety with a telltale click. If there really was someone or something on the other side of the door, it was no secret that he’d just readied a weapon. The small sound practically echoed through the vacuum of quiet.

With his gun in his left and the door knob under his right, Dean yanked open the door prepared for whatever lay in wait. But, there was nothing. Just a short, gloomy hall with threadbare carpet in a vile shade of green. Beyond the hall, their kitchen looked bright and cheery in the sunlight despite its dated decor. Relaxing and taking a deep breath of relief, Dean chastised himself for being so paranoid. But, he didn’t lower his weapon as he moved toward his bedroom. He did, however, resume humming ‘All of My Love’. Tugging on clothes, Dean started to sing again, his mind traveling to Castiel, as it usually did for this song.

Then, his heart dropped and his body went rigid as a purposeful sound reached his ears. This was not just the creaking of an old house or the distant sound of a neighbor’s screen door slamming. This was the telltale clunk of their own front door as it was opened, warped wood forced free of its swollen frame. As he stood on the balls of his feet, heart hammering and shirt hanging off one shoulder, Dean heard the sound of that same door being closed again. On silent feet, Dean pivoted for his gun, pulling his shirt the rest of the way on as he eased away from his closet and towards the hall.

Upon reaching the threshold, he both heard and felt a lumbering presence moving down the hall towards him and he was glad he’d left the safety off. Summoning courage, he vaulted into the hall and leveled his gun in the face of… John. “Fuck!” he cursed as he lowered his weapon and worked to force his heart back into his ribcage.

John, a bit slower to react, spat the curse back at him. “Fuck!”

Dean felt a gleeful laughter bubble up in his throat and burst from him as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand. “Dad, you scared the fuck out of me.”

“Well, I guess you weren’t expectin’ me home then? Seein’ as how you left me in a pile of shit last night?”

“Wha-

“You heard me. Didja think I wasn’t gonna remember that? Huh? I remember crawling into the goddam car that I GAVE YOU! And then I woke up in a muck pile. Did you really think you were gonna get away with that you little bastard?”

Stunned by the man’s anger, though he shouldn’t have been, Dean was not as defensive as he should’ve been. His gun slid from his hand as he was bulldozed backward by a sweaty, stinking, filthy, behemoth of a man. His father was growling at him even as he shoved him backward. Dean’s feet scrambled to keep under him, but it was useless. With a fist gripping both sides of his unbuttoned shirt, John was hauling him backward towards his bed and by the time he reached it, he was crashing backward with the momentum of John’s attack. His gun was too far, his feet were unreliable and Dean reached in vain with both arms to stabilize himself. His fingers clutched at, but didn’t successfully latch onto, John’s dirty shirt. Dean pitched backward, falling halfway onto his bed. As he bounced there he was watching John try to regain his balance so as not to come crashing down on top of his son.

“Dad,” he yelped as he rolled to the side and tried to get to his feet, “I’m sorry… I just… I just…

“You just what? Wanted to fuck over the man who’s kept you fed and clothed your entire life? Make a point of embarrassing me in front of another officer? I know Lafitte was with us when we left the bar!”

“You dick!” Dean spat as he ducked an angry fist, “You think I embarrassed you? You embarrassed yourself! And we weren't with you when you left the bar, we were with you at the goddam police station... where you tried to punch in for work hammered. _Again!”_

“I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson in respect,” shouted John, moving sideways to corner Dean near his dresser. “That’s been your problem all along, you’ve got no respect for your father.”

“How can I respect someone like you?” Dean threw back at him. Turning sideways and stepping out of the corner, Dean gave his father a shove to make room for his own escape, just wanting to get out of there. Behind him, John was pivoting to intercept him again and trying to block the path to the doorway. Once more, Dean stepped up and shoved the hulking man back, “You want respect?” he screamed. “Be a man for once. Haul your own sorry ass home from the bar - BEFORE you’re too drunk to walk! Show up for work without having someone pull you off the couch! Act like a father to your sons and then we’ll show you some goddam respect!”

Dean felt himself pushing his own boundaries, shoving his father again and again as he retook control of the situation and began fighting back. The man’s mouth was gaping like a river carp, clearly stunned by Dean’s outburst. He had obviously expected his son to be easily subdued as usual. But, no. Not this time. Dean was full of righteous indignation. It coursed through his veins and surged through his muscles. He was shouting now, through angry tears, surprised at how little he cared for his father seeing him so undone. “Why?” he shouted hoarsely. “Why are you like this? I’ve been a good son to you! I’ve done everything for you! I’ve stood up for you time and time again!”

Dean didn’t stop when he’d put hands to his father and shoved him to the floor. He dropped to one knee, pulled his arm back, and dealt a bone crunching blow to his father's cheek. A feeling of power swept over him as he watched John's head snap back. “Why?” he demanded as he dealt another blow, paying no attention to the pain in his hand. Dean was red-faced and screaming, “Why, Dad?” as John tried to scramble away from him.

The man's attempts to block the hits were growing pathetic and despite the tears that were blurring his vision, Dean continued to rain down blows. John was scrambling now, trying to escape the fury of his eldest son. Dean lurched to abort his father’s escape and continued to lash out at him, paying no heed to the appearance of blood or the crack of his own knuckle bones. Through blurry eyes Dean continued to pummel his father with angry fists while shouting, “Why? Why can’t you be what we need? Huh? Sammy’s in trouble, Dad, and if we ever needed a real father it’s right fucking now! So why? Why can’t you just be what I need?”

That’s when Dean felt the unexpected sensation of lift and drag. He watched the distorted image of his own bloody fists swiping the air ahead of him as he was pulled away from his father against his will. In the absence of further abuse, John slumped down into the dingy carpet like a sack of potatoes. He was just as dirty as one too. Wrenched up to his feet from behind, Dean began kicking out in anger, twisting away from the hands that held him, worried that the pile of filthy man on the floor still had not felt the depth of his anger, needing to get in just one more solid hit.

Slowly, from behind him, Dean began to recognize the voice belonging to the arms that had held him back from his father. “Sam,” he groaned, turning into his brother and letting himself be hugged. “Sammy,” he blubbered into his brother’s shirt.

“C’mon Dean,” said Sam gently. Dean allowed himself to be tugged out of his room. Glancing back at the heap of John Winchester, Dean noticed the man wasn’t moving and for a moment he felt a fleeting joy at the thought that maybe he’d killed him. On the heels of that was the crushing weight of guilt, and that’s what stayed with him as he stumbled down the hall with Sam. At the sink in the kitchen, Dean splashed cool water on his face and washed the blood from his hands. Sam, leaning on the counter next to him, handed him a towel when he’d finished.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled into the towel. He wasn’t sorry he’d done it. Just sorry that his brother had seen it.

“Don’t be. I’ve been wanting to do that since I was in kindergarten.”

Dean let out a huff of a laugh and then worked to get his thoughts together as he buttoned up his shirt. “My boots are in there,” he said to Sam, gesturing towards the bedroom.

“I’ll get them.”

Dean turned to the fridge, bending to peer inside. “And my gun,” he shouted over his shoulder as his eyes roved the top shelf for something cold to drink.

“Really?” said Sam pointedly when he returned.

“What?”

“A beer? It’s noon. I’m not drinking and it’s my last fucking day, Dean.”

“Well, I guess that’s the difference between us. You wanna remember this day. I don’t.”

“Dean,” whispered Sam, gently taking the beer from his hands and sliding a cola into them in its place. “Don’t become what you hate.”

“I’m getting life coaching from the dude who sold his soul?” The words were harsh, but Sam took them in the spirit with which they were intended. Jest. Both of them chuckled. “Where’s your old lady?” Dean asked.

“She had something she wanted to go pick up in the city. She’ll be gone most of the day. It’s just as well,” he shrugged. “I wanted to spend my last day with my brother.”

“So, she doesn’t even know that you’re not coming back? You just let her go off on a shopping trip and when she comes back, you’ll be gone?”

“Yeah, I guess. But what am I supposed to do? She loves me Dean. If I tell her, she’ll do what you tried to do. Try to save me. I didn’t want our last hours together to be spent like that. Not when it’s hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless,” Dean barked. Feeling the start of a nasty headache, he pivoted around to the cupboard and pulled down a bottle of aspirin. He downed several with his can of soda and looked back at his brother. Sam was shaking his head.

“I would’ve thought you’d have accepted it by now. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“I disagree. So does Pastor Jim.”

Sam’s jaw dropped open. “You told Pastor Jim?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve gotta pick up a few things and get over to the church. You’re coming with me.”

“Well,” shrugged Sam, “I told myself I was going to do whatever you wanted today.”

Dean felt a grin slide into place on his face, “You’d rather go for ice-cream and strippers?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam laughed.

“C’mon,” said Dean, reaching up to throw an arm around Sam’s neck. “Let’s go spend your last day in church.”

“There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

As they exited, Dean checked the pocket of his jeans to be sure his wallet was still there. He tucked his gun away and then, certain that he hadn’t forgotten anything, headed out into the hot sun. The boys climbed into the Impala, Dean not missing the opportunity to make fun of Sam’s ostentatious rental car. Driving through town, Dean started to fill in his brother on the highlights of the last twenty-four hours. Their stop at the hardware store took a long time, mostly because the paint they were having mixed was unusual.

“What the hell do you need black light paint for?” Sam asked as they waited.

“You’ll see,” chuckled Dean, foisting several different paint brushes into the cart.

“This is the strangest list,” added Sam, looking over the rest of the stuff they needed.

“Um, when you see the books we’ve been reading, you’ll be surprised there aren’t cat skulls on this list.”

By the time the boys made it back to the church, the staff had mostly gone for the day. Stepping into Jim’s office, Dean noticed right away that the man wasn’t alone. With his back to them, with his head bent low, was none other than John Winchester.

“Come in,” Jim said warmly to the brothers, rising from his swivel chair. Dean stood still as a statue, wondering what was going to happen next. He stayed tense as he watched the pastor move toward the opposite wall and slide a third chair over. There was an awkward silence as the boys moved to the chairs and sat down. Jim, on the other side of the desk, sat down too. “I think,” he said, looking between the three of them, “that your father has something he wants to say to you boys.”

Next to Sam, John cleared his throat and worked to sit up straighter. As he turned to look at his sons, Dean winced. He’d really done a number on his father’s face. The man’s lip was busted. The left side of his face was swollen and purpling, his eye red and watery. The other side was less damaged, but also mottled in bruises, numerous small abrasions around his tired eyes. At least he was clean now. A shower and clean clothes went a long ways toward making John seem like an upstanding citizen, despite the traces of violence that covered his face.

“Here’s the thing,” said John to them both, “I never wanted this life for you boys. I wanted to be a good man, a good father. And when I married your mother, I really thought I could be. She made me believe it like no one else ever had.”

Dean felt the start of a deep ache buried within him at the mention of his dead mother. All their lives, they’d never really spoken of her. Not since her passing. John wasn’t holding it together by much, it was plain to see. His fists were balled in his lap tightly as he spoke and his chin was clenched.

“The problem is,” continued John, “I could never really see myself the way she saw me. The only time I really felt good about myself was when I was with her,” John croaked. “The best of me died with her. Once she was gone, it was just me. I was left to raise you boys all by myself - and I _knew_ I wasn’t fit to be a father.”

Dean found himself nodding along. John was right, he had not been fit. Growing up Dean had thought that they had moved around so much because his father had simply been unable to hold down a job. But looking back at it from an adult’s perspective, it was clearly more than that.  Memories clicked with knowledge as Dean considered his father and realized that there had been many who had tried help over the years… a concerned neighbor or teacher, a child services investigator, or even the police. That, Dean now realized, had always been John’s cue to pack up and leave town. Crossing enough lines on a map had always seemed to give John Winchester the “do-over” he needed.

Settling in this town had been the end of the moving around. John had managed to keep himself steady enough to avoid the worst of the scrutiny, while his boys were young anyway. By the time Sam was in high school, no one was really interceding on their behalf anymore. But, several had helped soften the blow of having a dad like theirs. Bobby, for one. His wife Ellen too – she’d made the few home-cooked meals Dean and Sam had ever eaten. They were family to the boys if anyone was. Rufus had helped too, keeping John employed when it probably would’ve been far easier to just fire him and be done with it. But above all who had helped them, either a little or a lot, there was Pastor Jim.

By the time John spoke again, Dean was raw with emotion. And, looking up, he saw that his father and brother were feeling the same. All three of them had wet eyes, full of tears that didn’t fall. “I don’t deserve to be called father,” said John quietly, looking down at his clenched hands, “But if you boys could see it in your hearts to forgive this old man one more time, I can promise you that I’ll work on it. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to become what you need me to be.”

John looked straight at Dean when he said that last part. Their eyes met and Dean knew that his father remembered the words he’d been screaming when Sammy had pulled him away. Wetness tracked down his cheeks as he acknowledged his father with a nod, tears streaking his hot skin. It was impossible to speak, but in a show of solidarity, Dean reached across his brother’s chair and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. The man seemed to melt with relief at the touch. To his surprise, Dean saw Sam’s hand thread in between them and lock over John’s hands, another show of acceptance and forgiveness. A heartbeat later, all three were extracting their hands so they could wipe their cheeks dry. Dean hadn’t noticed Pastor Jim leaving, but he had. The man must’ve wanted to give them some privacy.

Now that their moment was over, he was back, doling out tissues that they all pretended not to need. “Well,” he said pointedly, “As glad as I am to see a family making progress, I think it’s time to return to the problem at hand.”

Dean turned to sit straighter in his seat, putting his attention on their counselor, his mentor. He waited as Jim explained to both him and Sam that John had been told what was going on and was going to help. Dean was stunned by this turn of events, but he tried not to show it. He simply listened intently as Jim laid out their developing plan for both Sam and John. Once everyone was on the same page, Jim put them to work.

Dean and Sam were set up in a Sunday school classroom, each of them operating a large manual paper cutter. Reams of paper were stacked up around them and as the brothers fell into a rhythm, slicing stacked paper with heavy metal rocker-arms, they produced perfectly measured rectangles. Tedious work left them plenty of time to think and it was quiet for a long time. Dean’s mind lingered on his father. In his heart, he knew better than to expect long term changes in the man. But, in all these years, John had never actually owned up to anything before. He hadn’t taken responsibility for his actions and he certainly hadn’t apologized for them, much less asked for forgiveness or promised to change. These developments could not be ignored. As much as Dean hated to give any merit to the man’s sudden change of heart, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful.

Watching his brother as they worked, Dean assumed Sam was thinking the same. Once they started talking, the two didn’t discuss heavy topics. Instead they shared lighthearted memories of growing up together. When they took a break for coffee, the brothers poked their heads into the classroom next door where John and Jim had a large canvas tarp hanging up on the wall. A projector was pointed at the tarp, shining the image of a devils trap onto it, probably pulled from some ancient book. The men were talking quietly as they worked to paint a perfect replica onto the canvas.

“Why the black-light paint?” Sam asked Dean as they paused in the doorway.

“You think the dude is gonna step onto a bullseye if he can see it?”

“Like he’s gonna just step onto a tarp you lay down for him. Dean, this isn’t a cartoon.”

“You’ll see,” said Dean with a smirk. “Let me work my magic.”

After their coffee break, the boys returned to their work. They cut and stacked and cut and stacked until the table was piled high with rubber-banded stacks of crisp buttercream colored paper. By the time they took their next break Dean’s shoulders were on fire, his muscles blazing from the repetition of swinging that cutting arm down thousands of times. The brothers ambled down the hall to check on the older men again. This time, there was a fan blowing on the tarp which still hung from the wall. The shiny paint was disappearing into the canvas as it dried.

Nearby, John and Jim were hunched over a table. Walking up behind them, Dean was fascinated. On the table was a wide assortment of supplies: a dozen high powered flashlights equipped with special light bulbs, a variety of recently sharpened knives with strange runes carved into the wooden handles, and, squirt guns?

“What are we doing with those?” asked Dean through laughter.

“They’re full of holy water,” replied Jim with a wink, “aim for the face.”

“Jeez,” groaned Sam, “what makes you guys think this stuff will work?”

“The collective wisdom of the ages and the word of one very experienced, retired pastor,” Jim said resolutely.

Watching the men dump the powder from shot gun shells, Dean asked, “And what are you making now?”

“Salt rounds,” John answered, “My idea. If a line of salt will keep a demon out, I have to assume that a round to the chest will slow them down.”

Dean glanced over at Jim, who was giving his father a nod of approval, and smiled. The bulk of the work was done by 3am. At that point, the four headed into town and hit the only place open at that hour… the McDonalds drive thru. They ate greasy food before getting back to work, this time out in the garden. From the grounds keepers shed, they extracted a wheelbarrow. After tossing a few shovels of dirt into it, the men pushed it inside and proceeded to get dirty. Dean and Sam had the cleaner part of the job – picking up the stacks of paper and laying a few green bills on the outside of each, banding them to look like bundles of money. Once banded, each stack was tossed to the older men who rubbed their filthy hands all over the bundles to ‘dirty up’ the edges. Their rough handling, combined with the smudges it left behind, seemed to make the cut paper look more like real money. Each pack had less than a dozen actual bills in it, but even that way, the amount of cash they went through was staggering.

“Where’d you get all this money,” asked Sam as they worked, “Dean didn’t really rob a bank did he?”

“No,” chuckled John, “Jim raided the coffers.”

“Wow,” said Sam to Jim, “What will you say when the congregation notices all this money gone?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet, Sam. I guess I’ll just be honest and say that I used it to try and save a life. Perhaps they’ll trust me. Perhaps not. We’ll see, I guess.”

Dean watched his brother dip his head. It was easy to see that Sam was starting to realize how much everyone was sacrificing to try and save his soul. All of them were going to walk into the presence of evil and risk their lives. But, even if they succeeded, the troubles would not be over for Jim who was risking expulsion from his church to facilitate their plan.

When all the fake money was ready, they washed up and pulled the tarp down from the wall. Spreading it out on the floor of the classroom, they began piling all the bundles of money in the center. When finished, they worked as a team to pull the corners together and tie it off into a huge satchel. The wheel barrow was emptied outside in the flower bed and then loaded into the bed of John’s pick up. Carrying the satchel out and loading it into Dean’s trunk took all four of them. By the time they'd cleaned up their mess inside, pale streaks of color in the eastern sky were announcing the approach of dawn.

It felt great to be finished with their preparations… to have a working plan in place… to be ready. But at the same time, they were exhausted. It would be foolish to deploy now and they all knew it. Dean and Jim, especially, had been up for days. Sam probably hadn’t slept much either.

“Is it safe to go home and rest?” Dean wondered aloud.

“It’s safer in my office,” said Jim. “We’ll be on hallowed ground.”

With a nod of silent agreement, the men filed back into the church. Grabbing coats from the lost and found to use as pillows, they retired to Pastor Jim’s office and curled up on the floor. Jim, however, stayed up working at his desk until Becky came in for the day. When she did, he greeted her and asked her to hold his calls and cancel all his appointments for the day. She seemed to think it strange when he said he didn’t want to be disturbed and shut his door, but she said nothing of it.

They all rested as much as they could. To call it sleeping was a stretch, but Dean found he was able to fade in and out despite the fear and tension inside him. He was so tired that exhaustion simply outweighed everything else. As he passed between the waking world and the dream world a few times, little details about the carnival niggled at him. Dean found himself pondering his run-in with Ellie. At the time, he’d wondered why she was there, working the carnival. It made sense to him now. Not just that she was there, but that she’d not fallen into conversation with him. Belatedly, he realized that she was indentured there, her soul the property of Mr. Crowley. The same was probably true for Jo Harvelle. Having sold her soul was the most logical explanation for both her quick rise to stardom… and for her current position as a whore in Crowley’s back tent.

But, Cas was an anomaly. He hadn’t signed away his soul, of that Dean was certain. For starters, he’d been with the carnival as a child. That wouldn’t have happened if he’d sold his soul. No matter how young he’d been when he’d made the deal, he would’ve been given ten years to enjoy what he’d received as compensation. The math simply didn’t work. There had to be some other explanation. Perhaps he really was just an orphan who was raised by carneys. But that didn’t explain why, even as a grown man, he remained bound to the place.

Thoughts of his blue-eyed boy teased at Dean relentlessly while he tried to sleep. When he did manage to drift off for a while, he found himself back at the carnival with wind whipping in his hair as he crested the top of the Ferris wheel with Castiel by his side, smiling unabashedly, kissing Dean while the lights of the carnival blurred around them. When awake, Dean hoped beyond reason that Cas had never been subjected to selling himself in the back tents. He prayed his thanks that in the times he’d spent money there, he’d never seen the love of his life lingering out in front of the tent and cruising for a trick. It would have broken him, of that Dean was certain. Castiel was an angel to him… a pure soul to whom he’d pledged himself… the owner of dulcet eyes that tugged at Dean’s heart like no one else’s ever had.

It was hard to believe that in such duress, any of them were able to sleep. But eventually sound sleep must’ve taken them under because all four of them were startled from a deep sleep when Becky knocked on Pastor Jim’s door and announced she was heading home for the day. They were groggy, all of them, eyes burning for more sleep. Jim called his thanks to the secretary as he scrambled to his feet and checked the time. “It’s almost six,” he said to the group. “Three hours until sundown.”

Blinking crust from his eyes, Dean turned over and stretched. His back was killing him and every bone in his body was aching. If he was feeling this beaten down, how must the older men be feeling after sleeping all day on a hard floor?

“I’ll go make some coffee,” said Jim. The others all followed him out of the office, heading for the restroom and then back to the coffee machine. Pirating day old bagels from the box behind Becky’s desk, the men converged in Jim’s office once more, ready to go over the plan one last time.

Sam wasn’t happy about being banished back to the hotel room he was sharing with Ruby. But Dean insisted, and he had the backing of both older men. “There’s no way we can focus on the plan if we’re watching to make sure you don’t get nabbed the whole time,” reasoned John.

“Besides,” added Dean, “the carnival’s open ‘til midnight and that’s when you’ll be missed if you’re not there. So, if we’re not back by eleven, it means we’ve failed and you can head over.”

“Okay,” nodded Sam, appearing to believe that was what he deserved. He was contrite; it was all over his face.

“Sammy,” Dean said, stepping up to his brother, “If we fail you, I just want you to know that I’m sorry. That I did my best for you. We all did.”

Wordlessly, Sam pulled him into a hug. Soon, both the older men were clustered in too. When the four pulled apart, they got back to business. If all went according to plan, they’d drop Sam at his hotel on their way to the carnival. They’d park near the exit, dress Dean like a clown, and then let him push the wheelbarrow of ‘money’ into the carnival. If stopped, Dean would simply say he was here to see Mr. Crowley. At this point, it seemed unimaginable that he not be allowed to proceed. He’d take a path he knew well now, following the midway up to the fork that led down to the adults-only section. From there he’d proceed to Crowley’s tent in the center. Far behind him would be his back up, Jim and John. They’d be blending in as best they could. Hidden in their clothing would be sawed off shot guns with salt rounds, squirt guns full of holy water, industrial flashlights, and knives. They’d keep an eye on Dean, ready to toss him a weapon if one was needed.

Dean would enter Crowley’s tent and tell the man he wanted to buy out Sam’s contract. The demon would say no. Of that they were all certain. But, he was a greedy bastard and he'd still want the money. His primary desire might be for souls, but if cash meant nothing to the Demon Crowley, then why would he bother fleecing the public for every last dollar the way he did? So, once he'd seen Dean's pile of money, Crowley would want it. Not only would he try to keep Dean from leaving the tent, he'd try to keep the money too. That was the center of their plan. Because when Crowley stepped in to pick up even one bundle of fake currency, he’d be stepping right into a devils trap. The moment he did, Dean would pull the high powered flashlight from his pocket and light up the symbol to lock the demon in place. He’d call out to Jim and John for back up and they’d all work together to keep the trap lit while they read the exorcism over and over until it worked.

Since Jim had mentioned it taking a long time for Catholic priests to expel demons, Dean was relieved to hear that they’d be using a different exorcism. They’d be using one that was regarded in pagan circles to be much more powerful than standing around shouting, “the power of Christ compels you.” Hopefully it wouldn’t take long to send Crowley to hell. They’d offer to stop the exorcism if Crowley would cancel Sam’s contract, but in the end, they wouldn’t be honoring that agreement. The moment that Sam was free… Crowley would be headed back to hell.

Dean had a few loosely formed ideas of torturing Crowley with knives and holy water if that’s what it took to get his brothers soul back. He wasn’t sure, but it would seem he wasn’t the only one nurturing those kinds of thoughts. Otherwise, why were they carrying so many knives?

Saying goodbye to Sammy at his hotel wasn’t easy, but they did it, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. Then, in the dark, Jim and John had climbed into the cab of John’s truck. Dean followed along in his baby as they headed for the carnival. Just in case he were to die tonight, Dean made every effort to enjoy what might be his last ride in the Impala.

Swinging into the parking lot, the two vehicles parked side by side near the exit, leaving their front ends pointed outward for a quick getaway in case one was necessary. As Jim and John pulled down the wheel barrow and rolled it over, Dean was donning a wig and smearing black make up on his face. In hopes that Cas would recognize him, Dean did his best to paint his face the same way Cas had when he’d helped Dean escape this carnival just a few days ago.

Then, with his dad and his pastor watching his back from a distance, Dean stepped up to the entrance with his wheelbarrow. Some guests did look at him, likely wondering what his cargo might be, but no one approached him as he by-passed the ticketing window. Not even the clowns. They were watching him though, he could feel it. Steeling himself for what was to come, Dean kept his eyes on the path in front of him, not looking around to see the faces of those watching his progress on behalf of Mr. Crowley.

The blur of colorful lights and sounds around him did nothing to ease the cold dread that tickled at his heart and kept Dean’s breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Once he took the fork in the road and headed for the burlesque, his fear ramped up a notch. He felt very exposed on this dimly lit path. Behind him, Dean could feel the presence of clowns trailing him, but he didn’t turn to look. Mostly, he kept his eyes forward because he didn’t want to see the sinister painted faces that he knew were back there. But, he also didn’t want to give away his back up. Ultimately, the less he knew about what was going on behind him, the better it was for all of them.

The road was lonely with no one else walking here, but the sounds and lights of the carnival were still present both behind him and up ahead. On this stretch of the beaten path it was normal for there to be a few men ambling to or from the burlesque at any given time. But tonight, there was no one but Dean, and those who ghosted along a few dozen yards behind him. From his left, Dean started to feel the prickly sensation of being watched. Moving his eyes but not his head, Dean peered into the dark and thought he caught a few glimpses of a shadowy figure loping alongside him.

His heartbeat quickened as he contemplated what might be moving out there in the blackness. But, when it called out to him, Dean recognized the voice. It was Castiel. “Dean, what are you doing?” he hissed from a few paces away.

“I’m here to save my brother,” Dean whispered back to Cas. He didn’t turn his head when he answered, mostly to keep from exposing the man to those who were watching. More than anything, he didn’t want Cas to be punished for coming to talk to him. But Dean had been hoping that Castiel would notice him and make contact. After all, if things went badly, this could be his last chance to say goodbye.

“You mean Sam?” whispered his love from the darkness. “Sam made a deal?”

“Yep. The night I took you home with me. If I had stayed with my brother, watched out for him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. So tonight I’m gonna set things right. Sammy’s gonna live a long and happy life away from here. He’s gonna go back to bein’ a lawyer in sunny California. He’s gonna have babies with his beautiful wife and live a perfect life.”

“Sam’s married?”

“Yep, and he’s -

“No,” interrupted Cas. He spoke the word so vehemently that Dean almost missed a step. “No, no, no,” Cas repeated desperately.

Dread passed over Dean as he took in the tone of Cas’ voice. In fact, Cas had stopped walking. Dean felt it. Knowing it was foolish, Dean stopped too. His blood ran cold as he waited for Cas to speak again, his stomach churning in a sickly way. There was no sound. No movement of feet in the grass, no breathing, no rustle of clothing.

“Cas?” he croaked, wondering if his friend had disappeared and left him.

“Dean, what is your brother’s wife’s name?”

Relaxing a bit just from knowing Cas was still there, Dean took a deep breath and answered. For a moment he wondered if it was a mistake to speak her name here, where it might be overheard by sinister entities. Sam would never forgive Dean if a slip of his tongue led to the inadvertent death of the woman he loved. But, it was Cas asking. And Cas, for all that he was part of this place, had never given Dean any reason not to trust him.

“Ruby,” he answered. “Her name is Ruby. She’s been with him since -

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” he whispered cautiously, suddenly feeling fear build again. Cas’s voice was laced with something… apprehension, maybe?

“Dean, Ruby is… she’s…”

Cas didn’t need to finish. Dean knew. His mind was flicking rapidly through the last ten years… little things he’d not given much thought to before now suddenly seemed like clues that he’d missed. For example, the fact that Sam’s wife never seemed to have to go home over the holidays. Also, the fact that Sam had never even met the so-called ‘family’ whose car and platinum cards had financed their initial escape. Above all else was the coincidence that Sam had met her here of all places, at the carnival. Dean asked the question of Cas aloud, though he already knew the answer. “She’s one of you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know?”

“No. I mean, I knew she’d left with a mark. I had no idea it was your brother.”

“What does she want from him?”

“Time.”

Dean was still facing ahead, not giving away Cas in the dark to anyone who might be watching him. “What do you mean by time?”

“She’s a demon, just like Crowley is. There’s lots of them here and they work the carnival at every stop, searching for –

“A mark,” supplied Dean, using Castiel’s word. He was finally beginning to understand how Crowley’s carnival really worked.

“Yes. When Ruby brought your brother to Crowley and he signed a deal, she earned herself ten years on earth with him. For a decade she gets out of hell and gets to live like a human again. She can breathe fresh air, sleep in a soft bed, have sex, and eat hamburgers, all the things that humans take for granted.”

“So Sammy’s just her ‘get out of hell free’ card?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what happens now? She has to go back? Is that why she came back to town with him? Does she get some kind of bonus for making sure he comes along quietly?”

“No, she’s back because she knows there’s no escaping Crowley. She’s had her time and now it’s over. If she had any children, that would have been her chance for a reward… for more time.”

“How so?” he asked, turning his head for the first time and peering into the dark. Cas was hovering there, just on the edge of the oppressive blackness that loomed along the edge of the path.

“The children,” answered Cas, “are worth another ten years. Each.”

Dean hated the sound of Castiel’s voice catching as he said those words. Their meaning pressed in on him from all sides and the weight of them threatened to crush him. Dean opened his mouth as a need to speak bubbled up inside him, but he could make no sound. No words were suitable. His throat now felt cracked and dry and it was only by sheer force of will that he was he able to rasp out, “You?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents?”

“My mother.”

“And that’s why…”

“Yes. She gave me to Crowley in exchange for another ten years.” Dean's mind quickly filled in the blanks. The story about a dead mother had been nothing but a cover story... one that had been told again and again until it rolled off the boys tongue without effort. The truth, that Cas had been traded off to a demon as payment, that was probably something that little Cas had never given voice to. With startling clarity Dean's mind shot back to the night he'd met Castiel and vividly remembered the way he'd looked when Dean had teased him about his strange name. 

"Castiel?" Dean had teased, "what the fuck kind of mother names her kid something like that?"

"A dead one," Cas had said coldly, his cherubic face twisted with hatred. At the time, Dean had assumed that the angry set of the boys face had been directed at him for bringing up a dead parent. But now, looking back, he realized the anger was more likely directed at his mother. Especially since she'd not actually been deceased at all, not only living but literally trading her her own children to a demon rather than surrendering to her fate.

“How long?” he gasped. “How long do you have to stay?”

“I’m his Dean. That’s why I can never leave.”

Dean turned away from Cas and set his eyes on the path ahead. He put his palms to the handles of the wheelbarrow and gripped tightly, assuming the weight of it again. As he started moving, his boots felt like they were full of lead, much like his heavy heart. It was all he could do to lift one first and then the other, take a step. Then two. Beside him, he could feel Cas moving in the dark, matching his pace on silent feet.

“Dean?” his friend pleaded in a whisper. “Dean? Please? Turn around get out of here while you still can. If you go up against Crowley you will lose.”

“I am not leaving my brother to rot here,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “Or you.”

“Whatever you’re planning, it’s not going to work.”

“Look Cas, save your breath okay? It’s gonna work. I’m leaving here tonight with my brother’s soul. And if I succeed, I’m takin’ you with me.”

“And if you don’t succeed?”

“Well then, I guess I’ll be stuck here forever, right?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“I guess if I can’t get you out, then at least I can stay here with you.”

“Oh Dean…”

Feeling his throat close up and tears threaten, Dean tried to harden himself. “Just go, Cas,” he gritted out. “Whichever way this goes, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“If you’re really doing this, against all of my warnings -

“I am,” spat Dean, cutting him off.

It was silent for a single step and then Cas slipped out of the darkness to fall in step beside him on the path. “Well then,” said Castiel softly, “I will go with you.”

 

 


	6. A Binding Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left to the story... I'm sad to see it coming to an end. But, the entire work has been much improved because of Destiella and her input. I have been VERY lucky to work with her.

 

 

As Castiel stepped out of the dark and onto the path with him, Dean felt himself become whole. Years ago, when they’d said goodbye at the carnival gate, Dean had felt part of himself break away and leave with Cas. From that moment to this one, he’d been half a man. But now, with Cas by his side, Dean was whole again. Finally.

He took a deep breath and savored the feeling. For a brief moment, Dean allowed himself the solace of marching to his end with a resigned lover beside him. It was as if the two of them both knew that as long as they were together, it didn’t matter how little time they had. But then, knowing that he must, Dean found the will to ask one last thing of his friend.

“Cas,” he said hopefully, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”         

“My dad and Pastor Jim are behind me – somewhere back there. Can you get word to them for me? Tell them what Ruby is? If I die tonight, Sammy will never know and I _need_ to be sure that my little brother is gonna be okay. Can you do that for me? Can you get the message to them for my brother?”

“Of course, Dean,” he answered. And then, without further discussion, Cas turned away into the dark.

As Dean forced himself to continue down the path alone, he heard Cas call out softly from a few feet away, “If this doesn’t work, Dean, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Dean closed his eyes as he took the next few steps, sending up a silent prayer for strength. He needed it: not just to face Crowley, but to walk away from Cas. Praying also for Castiel’s safety, Dean re-focused on what he’d come here to do.

Already his heart was laboring heavily, lumbering in his chest as he drew closer to the lair of Mr. Crowley. This must be what it feels like, he thought, to be a prisoner on death row being marched to his execution. It was as though his entire body was slowing down, hesitating, dragging out each step and each breath and each heartbeat for no better reason than to add another minute to his life.

Behind him, evil followed. Dean could sense it. He had no idea how many malevolent clowns were stalking him, but he could feel their eyes on his back. Ahead of him were the adults-only tents, the area lit with white circus lights but somehow still swathed in shadow. The air wasn’t moving tonight. It was humid and sticky, a heavy weight on his back. His damp shirt was sticking to his skin and the make up on his face was maddeningly itchy.

Taking the shortest route to Crowley’s tent, Dean passed the entrance to the peep show. The song and dance from inside was cheerful, punctuated with whistles and cat-calls and occasional laughter. It was a stark contrast to the funeral dirge that Dean seemed to be marching to as he bypassed the merriment and approached the small tent in the center of the encampment.

Pausing briefly at the entrance, Dean took a deep breath before pushing through the unguarded flaps. As he stepped inside, Sam’s face teased at the backs of his eye lids; not the sickeningly sad face of the young man who’d appeared on his doorstep a few days ago, but the sweet and tender face of a child beset with puppy-dog eyes and rosy cheeks. This was not Sam. It was Sammy. Dean’s heart stuttered as that boyish countenance smiled at him from a distant memory. Willfully he pushed the image of it down, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

Much like the last time Dean had entered this tent, Crowley was waiting for him expectantly. Dean halted and set down the weight of the rusty old wheelbarrow. Sparing only a moment to glance around, Dean noticed that the tent was small compared to those around it, but larger than it needed to be if were just a single person’s sleeping quarters. The interior was lit primarily by large candelabra stands and the corners were steeped in shadow. Mr. Crowley’s face was handsome in the soft glow of firelight and Dean hated that he found the man attractive.

When their eyes met, he was filled with a strange sensation of _knowing_ that Crowley was aware of his attraction and shared it. He looked at Dean condescendingly and said, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Winchester. I’d say I was surprised to see you here, but I’m not. I always knew you’d be back. Why don’t you come in and tell me what you want so daddy can help, hmm?”

“I’m here to make a deal, not cause trouble,” said Dean firmly. With a concentrated effort, he was able to keep his voice steady and his face stern. Intuition told him that he’d be hiding nothing from Mr. Crowley, but he had to try. “I’m not even packin’,” Dean added, lifting his shirt to show that he’d come unarmed. “I’m here because I know you own my brother - fair and square. He made a deal and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“How right you are,” nodded Mr. Crowley. The man casually seated himself in an ornate chair, its style reminiscent of a throne.

“Thing is,” continued Dean truthfully, “Sammy never would’ve made a deal with you if I had been with him, like I should’ve been. I was supposed to be lookin’ out for my baby brother and I wasn’t. That’s on me. So, I have to be the one to make this right.”

As he spoke, Dean stepped around the wheelbarrow and lifted the makeshift satchel out of it. He didn’t have to fake difficulty lifting it, the package was as heavy as a man. Stepping forward, Dean dropped the weight of it on the ground at the demons feet. Then, he bent to one knee and began to untie the rope. As it loosened, the flaps fell away dramatically to reveal a huge pile of cash, divided into banded bundles. They’d done a good job… the money looked real. He stayed there, bent down on one knee next to the cash, and looked up at Mr. Crowley.

The ringmaster met his gaze with interest and began to rise from his seat. With Crowley moving towards him, it didn’t feel right to speak. He didn’t want to jinx this by saying the wrong thing. With a hammering heart, Dean simply stayed there on one knee, hoping to appear humble as he waited for the Demon Crowley to step into his trap. It took all his will power to keep his eyes from watching the man’s feet as his strides drew him closer to the dark canvas… so close. So. Fucking. Close.

Sadly, the ringmaster’s progress halted about ten inches shy of the devils trap. His face was smug. Dean held Mr. Crowley’s eye as he went on to make his pitch.

“I think this should cover what you’ve invested in my brother,” he said firmly, allowing himself one glance at his bait. Hoping to entice Crowley into taking the final step, Dean leaned in and picked up a block of money. He held it out to his enemy, literally stretching over the pile as he offered it. The gesture invited the demon to physically take possession of the bounty and accept Dean’s offer.

“I will gladly give this over to you…” he added, still holding out the stack of cash, “…if you just let my brother out of the deal.”

Crowley’s voice was calm when he spoke and he didn’t reach out to take what Dean was offering him. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he responded by saying, “Every man has his price, right?”

The line was familiar, but Dean couldn’t place it. Crowley’s face was unreadable.

“Do you think that this sorry pile of monopoly money is even tempting for me?”

“Dude,” griped Dean, his carefully constructed mask slipping, “you have no idea what I went through to get this.” He was preparing to launch into a rehearsed speech about having robbed an armored car. But he was interrupted. By laughter.

“Oh but I do know,” grinned Crowley in response, “I know you cut up a lot of paper. I know you went to a lot of trouble to position the outside bills so these bundles would look genuine. You even managed to get real bank bands around them. But,” he speculated, his feet achingly close to the trap, “you knew I wasn’t interested in money when you came here tonight. After all, what is money compared to the value of a human soul, right?”

Dean felt himself shrinking. He’d never felt so small in all his life. On some level, he’d known this wouldn’t work. But now, all that was left was plan B. He tried to hold his poker face but he knew his inability to do so would play to his advantage. The more desperate he looked, the more genuine his offer would seem. With a shaky voice, he ventured, “I-I can get more. Not money. I mean, I know you don’t care about money. I mean souls. I can get you more… others to replace my brother. I’m a cop. I know all the most desperate people in town – people who would sell their souls. I’m the one who breaks up the domestic disputes, brings the runaways home, and drags the drunks out of the bars –

“Indeed,” nodded Crowley, seeming amused. “Most of all that old man of yours, right?”

Dean could feel crimson rushing to his cheeks. He was being outplayed. When he’d entered this tent, he’d thought his plan had a chance. Now he could see that he didn’t have a prayer. His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the canvas and he knew that the ringmaster was aware of the devil’s trap. Dean wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew. And, if the man knew Dean was bluffing about the money, then he also knew that Dean had no intention of bringing Mr. Crowley ‘marks’ from town. Even if they were hopeless cases that no one would miss… Dean wouldn’t have been able to turn them over to Crowley. It just wasn’t in his nature.

“Tell me Dean,” baited Mr. Crowley, “would you trade your father for your brother?”

Dean was stunned. He’d never even imagined this offer being made. But before he could really consider it, his gut was already telling him that something was wrong.

“C’mon Dean,” prodded the bearded man. “If I offered to trade your brother for your father, would you agree?”

Instinct told him that this wasn’t a bona fide offer. Crowley must be fucking with him. Desperately Dean tried to think of something clever to say in response, something to let Crowley know that he hadn’t been duped, something that showed Dean was no fool. Sadly, his mind was a blank. There were no snappy come-backs to deliver. But he had to say something, didn’t he?

“Can I even do that?” he asked with uncertainty, “I mean, I can understand a parent being able to sell a child since technically parents decide what to do with their kids. But that doesn’t apply to adults, does it? I can’t sell my father’s soul, right? Only my own?”

“Perceptive,” smiled his enemy, stroking his beard and still standing achingly close to the invisible trap at his feet. “I just wanted to see if you’d blink before you agreed. And truthfully, even if you were willing, it’s hardly a fair trade. You see Dean, the value of a soul is in its goodness, its righteousness. The soul of someone vile and corrupt is worthless. That’s how your dear daddy has been able to keep his all these years even though he drinks my liquor and patronizes my whore tents. But you and your brother? You are both very desirable. In fact, you are even more valuable than he is. Your soul is quite a prize, did you know that?”

Dean, still bent on one knee, looked up helplessly at Crowley and shook his head, unable to verbalize an answer.

“Even in the middle of a crowded carnival midway, your soul outshines those around it. So selfless, you are. So dutiful. So impassioned. So willing to sacrifice for others. You, my boy,” purred Mr. Crowley, “you shine like a new penny.”

Dean turned, scuttling in a circle to keep his eyes on the ringmaster as the man circled behind Dean’s back. Then, turning on his heel, Crowley walked away from him and left Dean to flop down with his miserable pile of fake money. The inevitability of it all was crushing. Watching the demon ease back down into his gaudy chair, Dean realized that he’d always known this was where he'd end up.

“Dean Winchester, I don’t know if you realize just how powerful I really am. I have collected a lot of souls over the last three hundred years and whoever controls a soul wields its power. When I return to hell with so many souls, I’ll rival even Lucifer in strength. I’ll rule it all. But, my interest in you goes beyond just the soul you possess. You see, Mr. Winchester, you fascinate me. I want all of you. Your soul, your body, and your mind. If you’d consider selling out to me completely, I’d make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“Oh, believe me,” barked Dean, a surge of contempt filling his chest. “There isn’t enough money on the planet-

“Need I remind you,” interrupted Crowley, “that this isn’t about money? Everyone has their price, you see, and I know yours.”

Dean struggled to his feet. As he did so, he watched as the ringmaster rise from his opulent chair and close the distance between them. In a familiar gesture, Crowley stood smugly and raised his hand, snapping his fingers with a flourish. It was a signal, Dean now realized, and he looked around to see what the demon had summoned.

A few yards away, the entrance flaps of the tent fluttered open and several clowns began pushing their way inside. Dean’s heart shuddered and stopped cold, ice filling his veins as he took in the sight of the clowns dragging an unwilling body between them. The prisoner twisted and bucked, fighting wildly at the arms that held him. With furious blue eyes blazing like cold fire, Castiel’s anger and frustration was palpable. “You can’t use me like this,” he spat, looking back and forth between Crowley and Dean.

“I own you,” retorted Crowley with a calculating expression. “I can use you any way I want... and I do mean _any_ way I want. I can can use your body for my own enjoyment or sell it to others. Hell, if I'm so inclined, I can even trade you for someone better. That is my right, as your owner.”

Dean was terrified to his core as he watched Crowley put Cas in his place. His trade was for Sammy… that’s what he’d come here thinking. And, it had been a comforting thought to know that even if he did wind up taking his brother’s place in Crowley’s carnival, at least he’d be with Castiel. But, if Cas was sold or traded, that would leave Dean here to suffer alone. The realization was like a punch to the gut. 

Aww,” sighed Crowley, looking down his chin at Dean with false pity, “I know that look. Yours, Dean, is the face of a man who was holding four of a kind and when his opponent laid down a royal flush.”

This was it. He’d lost. Dean couldn’t bear to look over at Cas, or Crowley either. He studied his own boots and the ground at his feet while he tried to control his rage. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked straight up at the red and white striped ceiling of Crowley’s tent, exhaling with a long and controlled expulsion. He'd not be giving this demon the satisfaction of hearing the guttural scream that had built up inside of him.

“So, Dean,” wheedled Mr. Crowley, “I’m willing to cut you a deal. But only because I like you so much.”

“Spare me the song and dance,” he growled, finally able look at Crowley again. “Just get on with it.”

“Alright then - no prep. I’ll just bend you right over,” he teased with a gleeful smile. “Here’s my offer. In exchange for your soul, I’ll amend your brother’s contract. He can keep the money, the education, everything I gave him. I’ll also give him the gift of time. Your brother will live his happy life, all the way up to its natural end. He can enjoy the good life that he traded his soul for, and I won’t call him back to the carnival until he dies as he’s fated to. As an added nicety, I’ll even wipe you from his memory – that way he won’t feel guilty for actually enjoying the incredible life you’ve gifted him.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley spoke right over top of him. “And, in exchange for your mind and body as well as your soul, I’ll give your precious Castiel his coveted freedom. He’ll never have to cruise the midway for marks again. He’ll never bend over and take it for money, the way others have done for you. He’ll leave here a free man… I’ll even put some cash in his wallet. I offer all of that, in exchange for your willing submission to me, my pet.”

Acid. Acid burning in his mouth. Dean wished he could lash out and strike the smarmy bastard. Curse him. Damn him to hell.

“Don’t over think it Dean,” prompted Crowley. “Say yes before I lose my patience. Otherwise, I might be inclined to bring your father in here and make him watch the first time I fuck you.”

Again, Dean was blindsided by Crowley. The man knew his every wish and his every fear. He was always a step ahead – was he reading Dean’s mind?

This was a rotten deal, but Dean had no alternative. He had to take it. How could he not? With just himself as trade, he’d be saving two people he loved from decades of agony.

He’d been prepared to trade his soul for Sam’s all along, if that's what it took. But in exchange for that, he’d been expecting to have his brother’s contract destroyed, not amended. Sadly, in the deal being offered, Crowley was still going to drag Sam to hell when he died. Cas too. And, since Crowley had not given a number to the years, who knew how long Sam’s natural life would really be? What if Sam was destined by fate to die at age 28 in a car accident? Then Dean would have traded his soul to Crowley for all eternity, and Sam would only live a few more years anyway. Would it even be worth it?

Additionally, Dean’s plan to take Sam's place had a built in consolation prize… Castiel. If he had to be trapped in the carnival forever, at least he would be with the love of his life. But, to stay here forever without Cas? That was an entirely different proposition.

He’d do it for Sammy; of course he would. On some level, he already knew that. But getting his mouth to agree? To seal his own fate? It wasn’t easy.

“Dean,” snapped Crowley, jerking his attention back. “This offer has a shelf life. If you don’t answer fast enough, I’m going to make you regret it.”

“Fuck you, man,” he spat. “Give me a minute to think.”

“No,” he replied sternly. “You already know you’re going to say yes. Don’t waste my time. I have other business to tend to besides the Winchester brothers.”

“I don’t – I mean, I just don’t-

“By all means, keep thinking on it Dean. But let me paint a picture for you. With the snap of my finger, I can bring your father and your precious holy man in here. Then I can make them watch as I fuck you into submission. And I do want to fuck you, Dean. I like the feisty ones you know, and I’ve had my eye on you for a long time. What do you think your daddy will do once he’s seen you being _horse fucked_ by a demon? Will he mourn your passing? Put flowers on your grave?”

Dean’s mouth was open, but words weren’t coming out. The mental pictures of what Crowley was threatening seemed to burn into his brain like hellfire.

“You’ll enjoy it too,” promised Crowley. “I don’t like to brag, but I’m damn good.” The demon kept his dark eyes locked on Dean as he sashayed over to cup Dean’s chin with his vile hand. “I mean, we both know you’re attracted to me. You were back then, and you still are now, even though you hate me.  And you know what? You won’t be able to deny how much you like the things that I will do to you, I can promise you that.

“You’ll get hard as I bend you over and split you open. Your father will see that. So will your precious Pastor Jimbo. Your brother too. They’ll all see your bare ass with my cock sliding into it. They’ll watch you grit your teeth when I grab your hips and force my way in deep. All three of them will hear you moaning when it starts to feel good and they’ll never forget how you begged me to cum when I keep you waiting too long for what you need.

“Once it’s over, they’ll never be able to think of you as a victim… not once they’ve seen you cum hard on my cock.  In fact, those men will leave you here willingly once they’ve seen how much you enjoy the dirty things I'll do to you.  Your beloved pastor will take precious Sammy and willingly leave you to your fate once he's seen you bend over for me. So, if you want that to be your final farewell to the people you love, then just take too long to give me the ‘yes’ you already know you’ll be giving me.”

Revulsion passed over Dean in waves and his head spun from being forced to decide so quickly and under duress.

"We both know you’ll be working the tents for me Dean. Forever. Your family doesn’t need to know it too, do they?”

“I’d rather just go straight to hell,” spat Dean.

“Only a man who's never been to hell would say that. Even a brutal fucking still feels pretty good compared to, say, having your fingernails pulled off.

Dean had no answer for that, but his stomach twisted as he considered the demons words.

"Besides," added Crowley, "You've always liked my fuck tents. If you're one of mine, you don't even have to pay. Better still, after you’ve sucked and fucked all night, you’ll have the privilege of coming to my tent. You can line up with the rest of my favorites and wait for a chance to let me use you. You’ll be jealous as you watch me fuck the others and you'll be embarrassed of the things others watch you do with me. But you’ll still beg me to do all the worst things to you... you won’t be able to help yourself. I’ll humiliate you in ways you can’t even imagine and still, you’ll beg me for more. You’ll hate yourself for wanting me so badly, but you’ll want me just the same.”

Deans eyes were scrunched shut, head shaking in denial, but behind his closed eyes he was remembering how he’d felt the night he turned down Crowley’s first offer years ago. He’d experienced agony then, writhing on his bedroom floor with a raging hard-on. The memory of it was quite vivid at this moment – the overwhelmingly painful need to cum, every fiber of his being begging for release but unable to climax.

Suddenly, his mind flicked to Alfie and made a connection.

Fuck.

Alife.

Alfie, the loudest boy in the sex tent. Dean remembered watching the youngster scream himself hoarse as he was fucked over and over… needing it desperately and endlessly… always needing it harder… always harder… everyone watching him as he thrashed wildly and pleaded shamelessly for more cock. More and more and more.

At the time it had been _such_ a turn on for Dean. The memory of Alfie’s begging and pleading had fueled his lusty fantasies for years. But now he could see that scene for what it really was. Punishment. Alfie’s punishment – his torment. Hell, right here on earth.  

Dean’s knees buckled as he realized what the future really held for him. From a few yards away, Castiel whimpered. Dean was loosing precious moments as he withheld his agreement and who could know exactly how many more precious seconds the Demon Crowley would wait before snapping his finger again to summon John and Jim into their midst. Dean was going to say yes eventually, Crowley was right about that. But the words, he just couldn't speak them. He simply couldn't utter the single syllable that would accept the deal, even though he knew that nothing better would be offered. 

In the end, Sam would leave here a free man, blissfully unaware of his fate or Deans, for a while anyway. So would Cas. He wanted that reprieve for them, he really did. But, knowing that their freedom wasn’t permanent made him reluctant. And, a glimpse of the hell he’d be condemned to… that was enough to make him sorry he’d ever been born. If he waited long enough to answer, everyone he gave a shit about would watch him as he was welcomed to his own personal hell... they'd see him degraded. Raped. Worse yet, they'd see him eventually start to enjoy it as the demon had said he would. They'd see him get hard while he was defiled, moan wantonly despite his audience of loved ones, beg for more the way Alfie always did. That thought alone was almost as alarming as the promise of his eternity being spent as an unwilling sex slave. Crowley had the power to make good on his every threat, Dean knew it. He'd felt it before.

Dean wanted to die right now – just surrender to blackness and go down for the big dirt nap. Compared to eternal suffering, ordinary death sounded like a gift. The compulsion to beg and plead was impossible to fight. He opened his mouth to say please, but instead of words forming, vomit rolled up his throat and spewed out onto the ground at his feet. He gagged and choked as his belly pitched wildly. Even when there was nothing left inside him, his stomach muscles were convulsing. It felt like he was dry-heaving for an eternity before the sickness finally started to pass. In its place settled an ache of grief and sadness the likes of which Dean had never felt before.

Wiping his mouth, Dean made to stand up again. But, as he did, he glanced over at Castiel. It was a mistake to let himself look. Those big blue eyes had never been filled with more sorrow or pity than they were as they looked at Dean in this moment.

Cas, sweet Cas. The man had known exactly how this showdown with Crowley was going to go. He’d tried to warn Dean - tried to get him to turn back. And when he hadn’t, the man had offered to go with him. He’d thrown his fate in with Dean’s despite knowing how bad things would be. That was a love and sacrifice like none Dean had never imagined.

In all his life, no one had ever done anything significant for him. He’d always been the one doing for others. But now, at last, Dean Winchester knew how it felt to have someone he loved offer a sacrifice for him. The irony was so frustrating… learning how it felt to really be loved, just as that love was about to be ripped away from him.

“Tick tock,” snarked Crowley from above him. “How much longer do you think I’m going to give you? Decide now, or decide while I fuck you raw in front of your father. It’s up to you.”

Dean pushed Mr. Crowley’s hand away hatefully as he struggled to his feet. It was a rotten deal, but Crowley seemed confident that he’d take it. Not willing to go down without at least trying to counter the offer, Dean ventured to amend the deal in his favor. “If I sell my soul to you, I need more in return than just more time for two of them. I mean, what guarantee do I have that they’ll even live a year? If I’m goin’ down for all eternity, you gotta do me one better.”

“Fine,” said the demon easily. Obviously he’d been expecting a negotiation. “Tell you what Dean, I’ll give you my word that both your brother and your lover will live at least fifty more years. And, I’ll throw in a rider that allows you one year of freedom to enjoy yourself before I take you as my own. So, you win a lifetime of freedom for both Sam and Castiel, and you have a whole year to spend with them before you surrender to me.”

This was probably as good as it was going to get. But, Dean made a try for more anyway. “Ten years,” he spat angrily, “I deserve at least the same amount of time you gave my brother.”

“Ten months,” retorted Crowley, demonstrating that by asking for more, Dean was being given less.

“Five years,” Dean tried again.

“Five months,” grinned the demon manically.

“Okay,” Dean conceded. “Just leave the deal as it was. I’ll take a year.”

“Damn right you will,” said Crowley with distain, “You’ll take it and be grateful.”

“I want it in writing,” added Dean.

“Of course,” replied Crowley, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a scroll. “You just sign here, seal it with a kiss, and it’s a done deal.”

Dean looked down at the scroll as it unrolled in front of him. Then, he glanced over at Castiel. The man was shaking his head no, eyes wide and pleading. Dean wondered if it was simply that his friend didn’t want to see Dean selling his soul, or if there was some other reason why the deal itself should not be agreed to. Wondering what to do, Dean stepped back from the scroll. His pulse was pounding in his head and his blood was roaring in his ears; it was all he could hear.

When Crowley looked away, turning his attention back to the entrance of the tent, Dean realized that the roaring in his ears wasn’t inside his own head. It was outside the tent –  the sound of angry voices, a mob of them. Following the ringmasters gaze, Dean’s eyes landed on the entrance to the tent where more clowns were pouring in – all shapes and sizes. In the midst of the chaos, Dean caught sight of a face with no make-up. His brother. Crowley’s evil henchmen had now taken Sammy prisoner too.

Over the angry shouts, Dean watched his brother be shoved forward. He was stretched thin, holding fast to something behind him, something that was too small to be seen over the swell of menacing faces. When Sam was thrust forward, pushed to his knees in front of Mr. Crowley, Dean finally saw what his brother was anchored to. It was Ruby. The two were holding hands as they were delivered to the demon who owned them both. Dean was even more stunned to see his father and Pastor Jim also swept along, manhandled within the chaos of painted faces, colorful wigs and gloved hands.

Obviously the carnival was closed for the night if Sammy was here and the clowns were showing their true colors; they were always so cautious when onlookers were present. With his eyes riveted on brother, Dean could see that Sam still had no idea what Ruby really was - because he was holding onto her as if she were something precious, something that he couldn’t live without.

Fury surged up in Dean and it made him powerful. Dangerous. For a moment, he forgot the sickening sadness of being unable to fully save his brother’s soul and the utter despair of knowing how their eternity would be spent. All he could think about was his baby brother, still being deceived by an agent of hell, even now.

“She’s a demon, Sam!” he shouted over the din, “She’s a demon and she tricked you!”

“Dean!” Sam shouted back, clearly relieved to hear his brother’s voice but not really paying attention to the words being shouted at him.  Through the crowd of masked and made-up faces, the two brothers shoved back at the bodies impeding them until they were close enough to embrace. As they crashed together, Dean was repeating over and over, “She’s a demon, Sammy, she’s a demon.”

“I know,” he answered as they pulled apart. “But we can trust her. She loves me and she’s going to save us.”

“What?” cried Dean, staring at his brother’s face in disbelief.

“It’s okay, Dean, just trust me,” he pleaded.

“No Sammy,” he cried out in despair. “No Sammy, no!”

And then, they were being pulled apart again. There were so many hands tugging at them that it was impossible to fight. The crowd of clowns easily overwhelmed and subdued them, shoving the brothers forward to face Crowley. That’s when Dean looked over at Ruby for the first time. She was attractive, pretty even, and she reached out longingly for Sam’s hand. Dean was forced to watch as his little brother grabbed hold of hers and threaded their fingers together.  

Crowley had a constipated look on his face as he addressed his horde. “Out. All of you. I’m in the middle of something.”

The bewildered mass quieted, turning to leave. Dean watched them all press toward the entrance of the tent and push through the flaps in single file. In the silence that followed, Crowley whispered for several by name and they lingered behind. The few who’d been called back formed a semi-circle behind Sam, Dean, and Ruby. They were effectively trapped with the demon, and knowing they weren’t going anywhere, the bearded man sank back into his gilded chair the way a king sits comfortably on his throne.

“Why the dramatic entrance?” Crowley asked condescendingly. Following the demons gaze, Dean realized that the ringmaster was speaking directly to Ruby.

“I’ve made arrangements for more time,” she answered in a matter of fact tone.

“How so?”

“Well, I was unable to convince Sam to father a child,” she admitted, almost sheepishly, “but I’m resourceful. I began work on adopting one last year. A son. I know you prefer the boys. Anyway, I only need three more days to take possession. If you’ll give me time to complete the transaction, I’ll turn the boy over to you. Would you be willing to allow me more time?”

“Three days is an inconvenience,” he told her dismissively. “It would mean changing my schedule. If I were inclined to agree, you’d only be getting five years instead of ten.”

Dean could not believe that his baby brother was just standing there and watching two demons discuss the life of a child in much the same way ordinary people debated the terms of a used car purchase. “Sammy you can’t be –

“Stay out of this, Dean,” argued Ruby. “This is Sam’s life we’re talking about, not yours.”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. “My brother ain’t gonna steal a kid and sell him to a demon just to save his own hide. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.”

“You’re wrong Dean,” said Sam softly, not meeting Dean’s eye, “I would do that. I’ve told you… I don’t want to go to hell.”

Dean was dumbstruck. Speechless. His mouth was hanging open and he couldn’t form words as he tried to process this version of his brother… the one that was willing to harm others to save himself. Obviously Sam had been more desperate and hopeless than he’d let on. Still reeling from Sam’s admission and trying to reorient himself, Dean’s eyes darted around the room desperately searching for aid. Where was all the firepower they’d walked in here with? Why wasn’t his father firing off homemade salt rounds or clearing a path through the clowns with plastic pistols of holy water? For fuck sake, why was no one doing anything?

With his head swimming, Dean tried to gather his thoughts and not lose heart. That’s when he suddenly realized that he had no idea where Cas was. Turning frantically to scan his eyes around the tent, Dean located his friend. He was squirming, trying in vain to free himself from the many arms that held him back. Jim and John were also detained, held against their will on the periphery while the demon bartered with Sam and Ruby. For a brief moment, Dean felt a glimmer of hope as he watched his father extricate a knife from his boot. But then, in the same breath, hope fizzled as he watched his dad lose the weapon to the cartoonishly gloved hands of a clown. With that, despair settled in; they were outnumbered and overwhelmed. A frigid chill rolled up his spine as Dean’s gaze locked with Castiel through the mayhem.  They were losing, and they both knew it.  Dean had to look away from Cas. 

It was plain to see that they weren’t going to gain an advantage, or even hold their ground. They were just here to witness, it would seem, as Sam and Ruby bartered for more time. Perhaps it was the gathering shadows, or maybe it was real, but the eyes of the clowns looked black now. No pupils, no irises, just pure black. Black as a damned soul.

Evil was everywhere and Dean could feel the weight of it all around him. As he contemplated just how fucked they all really were, Dean remembered Crowley's earlier proclamation that only the good souls were valuable. With sadness, Dean came to understand that the more comfortable Sam became with trading other souls for his own, the less valuable he’d become to Crowley. Unfortunately, his value to Dean had not diminished at all. Even now, seeing his brother at his worst, Dean would still give his own soul to save Sam.

“Sammy,” Dean pleaded, “Don’t do it, man, please. This isn't who you are.”

Sam seemed to be ignoring Dean completely now. His eyes were fixed on Crowley, and at his side Ruby seemed to be considering the offer. “Yes,” she said firmly, “We’ll take the deal.”

From behind them, an audible gasp reached Dean’s ears. He could tell it was Pastor Jim. Clearly Dean wasn’t the only one who had expected more from Sam.

Dean’s attention returned to Crowley when he spoke. “Well, then, come kiss me to accept.”

Dean watched the demon Ruby step away from Sam, dropping his hand so she could move closer to Crowley.

“I have something for you,” she said softly, her voice meek, “I thought it might be worth an extra year to you?”

She held out her hand, palm down, offering something to Crowley. The ringmaster had been leaning in to kiss her as she approached. But as she spoke he paused, probably wondering what kind of token she was offering. Dean wondered too and he angled to the side for a better view.

“W-Wait,” Crowley stammered as she pressed something small and black into his hand. “What th- what the hell is this?” he demanded, dropping his gaze to examine the item.

“I bet you can’t guess who gave me that,” Ruby said tauntingly, suddenly appearing far more confident.

Mr. Crowley looked stunned as he turned the item over in his hand. When he finally looked up again, there was anger etched deep into his featuress. Ruby was already backing away cautiously, moving to stand beside Sam who was pulling something from his pocket, a sheet of paper, or so it would seem. Dean wondered what was going on as he watched his brother unfold an aged piece of paper. Taking Ruby's hand in his again, Sam began to read from the page he held in a commanding voice. To Dean it was jibberish, just a jumble of unrecognizable sounds, a foreign language.

“You spiteful demon whore,” spat Crowley, eyes vicious and locked on Ruby as Sam continued to read without stopping.

“Where do you suppose I got that?” she challenged him again, voice growing bold and vindictive while Sam carried on in the background.

“A hex bag?” he snorted. “A _hex_ bag? This could only have come from Mother.”

As Crowley said the word ‘mother’ there was a heavy shudder. Dean felt it in his feet, the earth vibrating beneath him. Simultaneously a rush of cool air seemed to pass through the tent. The candles blinked out for a moment in the gust and the tent was plunged into darkness. As the air stilled in the heartbeats that followed, the flames began to flicker back to life again and the rows of candles resumed their robust amber glow. But, something had changed. A woman had appeared in their midst. She was smaller in stature than even Ruby, but with sharp features and fiery red hair, she was a commanding presence. She said only two words as the clowns on the periphery began to whisper amongst themselves. “Hello, Fergus."

The room went quiet after she’d spoken, all eyes fixing on Crowley who blinked once at the woman and said flatly, “Speak of the devil.”

“And the devil shall appear,” finished the woman with a smirk. Her tight dress and high heels seemed out place in this environment and she seemed oddly confident for someone who had to look up from a foot below in order to meet eyes with Crowley.

Anger turned Crowley’s face bright red in the blink of an eye - the man was visibly seething. Until now, the ringmaster’s confidence and calm demeanor had made him seen unshakeable, invincible. But in the space of a few seconds, Dean was starting to see cracks in the man’s poised exterior. He was leaning into Ruby’s face as he shouted, “My mother? You’ve betrayed me to my witch mother? You ungrateful demon whore -”

“Mother?” Dean echoed. “This piece of shit has a mother?”

“Of course he does, said the woman impishly, winking at Dean. “I’m Rowena. And I must say, it’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a strapping young lad such as yourself.”

Unsure of what to say in the face of her flattery, Dean turned back to Crowley wondering what his reaction would be.

“Oh, Mother,” the ringmaster said flatly with an exaggerated eye roll, “don’t be such a whore.”

“Well,” she defended, “he’s quite a specimen, is he not? I can see why you’d want him chained to your bed.”

Looking back to Ruby, Crowley raised his chin and spat, “No one in the history of torture has been tortured the way _you_ are going to be tortured."

“There, there,” said the dainty red-head as she stepped between the two of them. “Don’t go getting your britches all in a knot Fergus.”

“It’s Crowley,” he told her firmly, “And what are you doing here?”

“Well,” she replied with thinly veiled contempt, “I wanted to have a word with my son. But since you were hiding behind so much warding, I was forced to get a little creative.”

“You’re a nasty wench,” he told her spitefully. “What did you offer this conniving bitch to turn my own demon against me?”

“Nothing but the opportunity,” gloated the petit mistress of dark magic. “You see, Fergus, even your own demons hold you in contempt.”

Dean watched, fascinated, as the witch with the long flowing hair gestured towards Ruby and spoke of her sweetly. “When this poor, lost child came to me for aid, I told her that I’d help her solve her pesky demon issue. All she had to do was put that hex bag in your hand and get you to say the word ‘mother’. With that, my boy, she was able to summon me right to you.”

“And why, pray tell, did you want to see me?”

She strode forward to address him, a commanding presence despite her small stature, “You tried to have me killed. Again. And I’m not a wench, by the way. Wenches serve. I do not. I’m a witch; one that you’ve clearly underestimated.”

“You tried to kill me first,” he defended.

“Yes,” she agreed in his same thick Scottish accent, “and that was my mistake.”

“It was?” he asked, seeming to wonder if she was about to apologize.

“Absolutely,” she said with false kindness, reaching up to cup his face in her palm. “You see, my bonnie lad, I don’t need to kill you. I can see that now.”

Dean thought Crowley almost looked relieved. Then his face slowly changed from relief to fear as she spoke to him.

“You see, Fergus, I don’t need to kill you because you're already dead. All I really have to do is send you back to hell,” she said smartly, “and make sure you stay there this time.”

Crowley rolled his eyes at her words and lifted his hand. He made a dramatic show of snapping his fingers, an action that usually made something appear. But, looking around the tent, Dean saw nothing materialize.  

“Oh my,” giggled Crowley’s mother impishly. “Was something supposed to happen dear boy?”

Mr. Crowley looked surprised.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re as limp as an old man’s pecker for the moment, aren’t ye? Rendered harmless by the power of my hex bag and the little bitty spell that our dear Samuel read. I’m afraid you’re completely vulnerable for a moment... no powers to speak of… not even the power of persuasion.”

“You bitch,” he spat at her.

“Oh, yes,” she said conspiratorially to Ruby. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.”

Dean stood by helplessly as his brother’s demon lover called out for John and Jim to come forward. Since their master was now without his powers, the clown squad seemed content to release the men as Ruby and Rowena gestured for them.

“My spell is good,” she said to Jim and John, “but sadly, it won’t last forever. Let’s get my precious boy into that lovely trap you’ve prepared.”

All eyes were on the older men as they took hold of Mr. Crowley and began dragging him towards the money covered tarp where Dean had initially tried to trap him. Sam sprang forward and began kicking the bundles of cash out of the way. Dean, suddenly aware that the tide was turning, leapt to action. Jim and John had Crowley between them. He was struggling, but unable to escape. At this moment, the demon seemed to possess nothing but the strength of an ordinary man. So, while the older men hauled Crowley into position and worked to bind him into chains, Dean was coming around the outside to take heavy flashlights from the pockets of both his father and Jim.

With a click, Dean turned on the first one and it's special bulb produced a faint purple glow. His hands were shaking with adrenaline as he turned on another, passing one to Cas and keeping one for himself. From the perimeter of the circle, they shone their soft lights on the invisible trap. As they did, the symbol lit up bright and crisp, its thick lines gleaming white… so white it was almost purple. Realizing how trapped he really was, Crowley roared in anger and frustration, thrashing in his chains, but he seemed unable to exit the circle.  

Finally, they had the demon Crowley as positioned right where they wanted him. Dean’s heart was racing as he watched the older men pull out squirt guns. Dean knew they meant to defend the devils trap from Crowley’s henchmen, but as Dean surveyed the scene he realized it was pointless. The clowns were still, watching and waiting. Belatedly it occurred to Dean that they were probably prisoners here, just like Cas.

Turning to his friend, Dean was thrilled to see Castiel’s face showing elation. The man’s chest was heaving and a tentative smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he acknowledged Dean with a silent nod. Something was different in Cas at this moment – he had hope. Probably for the first time in all his life. The urge to kiss him was strong, but before he could act on it, Rowena’s voice pulled his attention away.

“Well, don’t be shy,” she said teasingly to the pastor. “Do you need an engraved invitation? You have a few words of Latin to speak, do you not?”

Rowena’s prodding seemed to remind Jim of what they’d set out to do. He pulled the exorcism out of his pocket with his free hand, looking skeptically around the room as though he couldn’t believe that no one was coming to stop him. Sam pulled away from Ruby for the first time, stepping up to take Jim’s light from him and hold it. With both hands free, the pastor turned his full attention to the small paper he held.

“Well, go on then,” nudged the gutsy little witch. “Say the magic words.”

Pastor Jim spoke timidly at first, but as he repeated the passage a second time, the man’s voice grew more confident. Crowley looked uncomfortable and stared imploringly at the clowns who were normally at his beck and call. They stared back at him but didn’t move to assist. By the third recitation of the exorcism, Jim’s voice had grown commanding and Mr. Crowley’s body buckled in response. The chains didn’t hold long, and soon Crowley was free again, held in place by nothing but the ancient symbol beneath his feet. As Pastor Jim continued repeating the exorcism, Crowley raised his hand to his mouth as though he’d burped. From between his fingers a few tendrils of red smoke slithered out and dissipated into the air.

Seeing that his words were having an effect, Jim’s voice grew more impassioned and his face reddened under the strain. He was practically shouting the words at Crowley now. The ringmaster’s eyes turned crimson, the same color as the smoke that seeped from his mouth as he coughed and wheezed. Agitated, the demon paced back and forth, angrily cursing his mother, the Winchesters, and even the clowns as he vomited swirling clouds of red vapor. All eyes were on Mr. Crowley as he finally folded over and dropped to one knee.

“You’ll regret this,” he choked, more smoke roiling out into the air as his threatening words were swallowed up in gagging sounds.  Jim continued chanting and didn’t flinch, even when the sounds Crowley made ceased to sound human. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” rasped Crowley in the voice of a horror movie devil. His hands clawed at his throat while he laughed ominously and cursed his mother. “You’re sending me back to hell…” he rasped, “but with as many souls as I own, I’ll be the most powerful demon there. I’ll be the king.”

“Well, goodie for you Fergus,” laughed Rowena boldly, her tiny frame locked proudly as she stood over the writhing mass of what was once her son. “I hope you enjoy the throne down there while I enjoy mine up here… where I don’t have to eat entrails or smell Sulphur all the day and night.”

“You’ll join me someday,” Crowley spat at her, retching crimson smoke. It churned violently as it sank into the ground around him. “And when you finally die, I’ll be waiting for you down there, Mother. I’ll see to your torture personally,” he promised her with contempt. “And then you’ll grovel for mercy at my feet. I’ll be the king of hell and you’ll be nothing but demon fodder. You’ll beg me to help you and I’ll laugh as my horde tear you apart. You see, even when I lose, I win. See you soon mum.”

With the guttural roar of an unholy beast, Crowley finally succumbed and dropped to the ground in his glowing prison. The body remaining on earth was a withered husk without the demon to fill it. The body grew a bit smaller and seemed to fold in on itself as the very last of his essence rolled out of its mouth and sank into the dirt beneath their feet. Dean’s heart was racing as he watched the demon Crowley be exorcised to hell at the hands of his own mother. Pastor Jim continued chanting until everything was still and the witch addressed him directly.

“Enough already,” Rowena said to him. “No need to beat a dead horse. My Fergus is gone now, and he shan’t be returning.”

As Jim’s voice trailed off, Dean looked around, taking stock of the room. The tiny red-haired woman looked smug, and was exchanging a satisfied nod of acknowledgement with Ruby. Sam looked relieved and was turning to face the clowns that had outnumbered them only a moment ago. There were no more standing. A mass of bodies was all that was left, motionless on the ground, a tangle of limbs. Stunned, Dean looked from the pile of bodies, to his shell-shocked Pastor, and then over to Cas who was still standing just a few feet away from John Winchester.

“W-What the fuck?” Dean bellowed, taking in the carnage.

“That was a binding spell,” said Sam by way of explanation. He was stepping away from Ruby now, closing the distance and moving towards Dean. “The spell binds Crowley to hell. He and everything attached to him is there now. That includes all the souls he bought.”

Dean let his arms fall around his brother, trying to wrap his head around all that had just happened. “But not you?” Dean asked, burying his face in his brother’s shirt.

“Not me,” whispered Sam, hugging him back. “Ruby made sure of it.”

Extricating himself from Sam’s embrace, Dean turned abruptly and crossed the short distance between himself and Castiel. He marched right past his own father, not pausing to care about what John thought as he wrapped his arms around Cas tightly.

Just as the two connected, Dean felt Cas’s body collapse out from under him. The man dropped from his arms and into a pile on the ground at Dean’s feet.

“No!” he shouted, dropping to his knees and pulling Castiel’s limp body to him.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded, fearing his lover’s fate would be tied to the clowns who now lay in waste around them. Tugging Cas’s lifeless body into his lap, Dean held him close and peppered his face with kisses. “Please,” he whispered between pecks, “Please, God, please… if anyone doesn’t deserve to rot in hell it’s him… please, please, please –

In his arms, Dean felt a twitch. Hopeful, he held his breath and moved both of his hands to cradle his lover’s face. With fat tears rolling down his cheeks, Dean waited with baited breath, hoping beyond all logic that God had heard his prayer and restored life to Castiel’s sagging body.

“Please,” he whispered again, searching that angelic face for any sign of life. That’s when the eyelids fluttered and came open. Those magnetic blue eyes locked on his, and a throaty voice rasped out his name.

“Cas,” he gasped, both of them wrapping arms around each other as they struggled to their feet. Even after they were standing, it was impossible to let go. They held each other tightly for a long time, noses pressed into one another’s necks. The moment was broken by the sound of Rowena’s laughter. From behind him Dean heard her say, “Oh my, I didn’t realize that the two of them were arse bandits.”

With Cas gifted back to him, Dean felt relief. And gratitude. Still  holding Cas close, Dean turned enough to take in the faces of those who watched them. He saw his father standing there, slack jawed and stunned. Next to John was Jim, equally surprised to see Dean cleaving to a man like this. Then, to their left, Dean noticed Crowley’s mother leaning towards Ruby. The petite little witch gave Sam’s demon lover a conspiratorial wink and said, “What a waste, aye? It’s always the most handsome ones that turn out to be knob jockeys.”

 


	7. A Church Basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much praise and thanks to Destiella, a wonderful beta, for her work on this chapter. I am so very appreciative!

There was a lot to process as Dean and Cas stood side by side with a grotesque sprawl of dead clowns on the ground at their backs. In front of them stood the survivors, all of whom were momentarily stunned into silence. Ruby’s was the only face not showing utter shock. In fact, she was still grinning from Rowena’s snarky commentary. Dean had always known that insults would be part of his life if he revealed his preferences.  Now, facing it for real, he was surprised at how little it mattered to him. In fact, he almost found her jokes funny.  _Knob jockey_. In another place and time, he probably would’ve laughed out loud.

When a tentative finger touched the back of his hand, Dean turned his palm into it, a silent acceptance. He then took a deep breath as Cas joined their hands, slotting fingers together.

“What?” challenged Dean, meeting his father’s eye. “Anybody got an issue with this?”

John’s face was uncertain. Dean steeled himself in preparation for a possible rejection. The next person to speak was Pastor Jim, but Dean didn’t turn his head to look at the man, his focus was solely on John Winchester.  

"Now isn't the time," barked Pastor Jim, pushing between them. 

"Right..." nodded Dean, "...bigger fish." 

Glancing back at his father, Dean saw the man nod his agreement. There were obviously more pressing issues at hand than the sexual inclinations of Dean Winchester. The looming threat of Mr. Crowley may have been dispatched, but there was still a very real and very powerful witch standing among them. Worse yet, there was a lingering demon. And that demon was looking quite comfortable holding Sammy's hand. As her sultry eyes wandered over the carnage around them, Dean was stunned to see how comfortable his brother was to be tethered to her. Dean's attention shifted from their threaded fingers up to the strong set of Sam's broad shoulders. His brother's frame was locked in a defiant stance. For a brief moment he wondered if his brother would play the 'I accept your gay lover, now you need to accept that I love this demon' card.  

The few beats of silence that passed as everyone processed the situation were interrupted by Rowena's sing-song voice. "By bigger fish, I'm assuming you meant me?" In response, all eyes turned to her. She strode between them as though taking center stage and announced her intentions. "Though I may be quite anxious to know how all the Winchester family drama plays out, I would agree that there are more important matters at hand. After all, I now have a carnival to run." 

Dean had no idea what to say as the implication took shape in his mind. A cold shiver snaked up his spine as he imagined the wicked carnival moving from town to town with Rowena's false kindness luring in the young and old alike... enticing good people to dark deeds. Did she intend to harvest souls like her son had? 

Summoning all the courage he had, Dean ventured to ask her, "What do you plan to do with the carnival if we let you take it?"  

"Let me?" she pouted flirtatiously, reaching up to take Dean's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Such an ambitious lad, you are. Who are you to deny me what's mine, eh? To the victor go the spoils. That's been the way of it since before the years were numbered." Dean felt dread creeping up on him as she clutched to him, her tone turning commanding as she stared him down. "And," she continued, "what I choose to do with the property and riches of my dearly departed Fergus are no business of yours."  

Dean hated to admit it, but a small sliver of him was both impressed and enthralled by this minx, even as he feared and loathed her.  

"The spoils are yours," said Jim, pushing between them and startling Dean out of the trance in which she seemed to have been fixing him. "None of us will deny you material goods," said Pastor Jim in a matter-of-fact voice. "What we care about are the souls. Do you plan to bargain for souls the way your son did?" 

"Not that it's any of your concern, holy man, but no," she answered him icily. "One must be bound to hell itself before they can control and appropriate its property. Since I've not yet died, I've no power in perdition." 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief to know that they'd not just traded one evil foe for another. Then, curiosity overcame him and he had to ask. "Well then, if you're not in the soul trade, why would you want a carnival?" As he posed the question Dean found his eyes traveling down her slender form which was wrapped in a glamorous form fitting gown and delicate stilettos. "I mean, you don't seem like the type to wanna live in a tent." Knowing he was pushing his luck, but unable to hold back his natural sarcasm, Dean added, "I bet you'd rather burn at the stake than use a campground shower. Really lady... what the hell do you plan to do with a carnival?" 

"Watch yourself now," she chided, "I'm far older and more powerful than you think. Just because I've got a bit of a soft spot for a handsome face, don't go thinkin' me weak. I've survived countless plagues, the spell work of other witches, the tyranny of the church, the witch hunts of early America, and my own demon spawn hunting me down for revenge." She leaned in and patted Dean's cheek with her palm, leaving it to rest there as she added, "You see my lad that which does not kill us, does indeed make us stronger." 

A feeling of foreboding gripped Dean as Rowena held his gaze. Despite her claim that she wouldn’t be buying souls, she _would_ carry on a dark business. He was certain of it. People should fear her. He feared her. He gripped Castiel's hand tightly and felt his man squeeze back in return. It was a show of solidarity, even if both of them knew better than to speak at this moment. 

“This carnival was quite an enterprise... was there anything that wasn’t for sale here? Hmm? Rides. Food. Sex. Freaks. Souls. My bonnie lad had his chubby little fingers in an awful lot of pies now, didn’t he? Well, I've got my own ways to capitalize on opportunities and I've always been a career woman. I will make this carnival my own," she announced to the group. "And, under a new name, it will be about my own work. Humans are easy marks, you see. They'll happily give over every last dollar in their pockets to a game that they know is rigged - and for a prize they don't even really want. Just imagine what they'd give for  _real_  prize." The room was silent for a moment as they all considered her words.  

"Think about it," she continued. "What would a jealous wife give for a hex bag to kill her husband’s lover? Hmmm? How much would a forty-year old virgin pay for a spell that makes women want to sleep with him? How much would a barren woman sacrifice to conceive?"  

As she went on, a picture began shaping in Dean's mind. He could see it clearly... Rowena dressed in the ornate garb of a fortune teller and smiling warmly in soft candle light as she leaned across the table and whispered that she could make someone's dream come true. Her gloating voice pulled Dean's attention back to the present where she leaned in on him and winked as she whispered, "What would a politician pay to win office?"  

Yes, this was someone to fear, he felt it in his bones. The fact that she'd saved his brother from Crowley didn't make her any less of a threat than her predecessor.  "You see," said Rowena, turning her attention back to the group, "for all my son's failings, he had a brilliant idea. This enticement-on-wheels was a perfect venue to mingle with humans while their guard was down and sniff out the most desperate among them." 

Dean chanced a glance over at his father and Jim. Both men were fixated on Rowena and it was easy to see that they were thinking the same thing he was.  

"You lot have nothing to fear from me," said the witch as she floated gracefully between them. They all watched as her small steps carried her away from them, past the clown corpses, and towards the exit. "You are free to leave now," she told them, "and I'll not harm a hair on your devilishly handsome heads, so long as that favor is returned." 

She spun fluidly when she reached the flaps that led outside and turned to face them as though waiting to see if anyone was foolish enough to try and stop her.  

"Sammy's free?" Dean asked, wanting to clarify his brother's fate. 

Being far more powerful than any of them, Rowena had no reason to lie. But still, Dean knew not to trust the sympathetic tilt of her head as she answered him. She felt no kindness for him, of that he was certain. "Of course dear boy," she replied smoothly, "Ruby's assistance in bringing me here came at a price. As payment for her services, I placed upon her and Samuel a spell of protection. That spell severed them from their contractual fates while my son was banished from this plane. Now that he's in hell permanently, he has no way to collect on the contract when our young Samuel finally kicks the bucket. The rest though," she added, gesturing to the dead, "they got what they bargained for. When my dear Fergus was exorcised to hell, their souls went with him. They belong to him there now, instead of here." 

"What about Cas?" he asked, wondering how his lover had been spared. Surely he'd not been included in any deal that Ruby made. So, was it God? Had his prayer been heard and answered? 

"That's an entirely different matter," Rowena said curtly. "The souls that signed no contract were never really my son's property. They weren't bound to him by contract, only by his power. Now that he's gone, the invisible chains of that power are gone with him." 

In the face of a new and menacing evil, Dean found himself oddly content. There was clearly no immediate threat to himself or his loved ones from Rowena. She seemed content to let them be on their way. And, when he left these grounds, he'd be taking two free men with him... both Cas and Sam. The realization set his heart to pounding and brought a sense of euphoria over him. A smile spread over his face as he watched the new empress of this dark carnival leave their presence with a final farewell and the warning that anyone remaining at dawn had better be planning to join the carnival. 

They all lingered for a moment, watching the place where she'd departed. Then, as a minute of silence ticked by, Dean found his attention returning to his brother. Sam's eyes were riveted on the flaps of the tent through which Rowena had just passed. By his tense posture, it would seem that Sammy half expected her to leap back inside.

Dean's momentary high fizzled as he remembered that Ruby was still here. The demon who had tricked Sammy and kick-started this whole soul-selling mess was now standing among them as if she were a member of the family. Sadly, Sam's iron grip on her seemed to support that perception.    

"Sammy," he said, dropping Cas's hand and stepping away from him for the first time since he'd fallen, "she's a demon. She's a demon, man, you gotta see that. Tell me you see her for what she is." 

His brother’s face was imploring as he pulled Ruby closer to himself and said, "She saved me tonight, Dean."

"No, Sammy," he responded, as he tried to close the distance between then. "No. You can't give her credit for saving your ass tonight. That was us. Me and Jim and Dad. We're the ones who risked everything... put our lives on the line to save yours. This chick... no. This  _demon_... is the one who gave you to Crowley in the first place. Dammit Sammy, she tricked you into selling your soul. How can you forgive that?" 

"She did it because she had to, Dean, but then she fell in love with me. And now, she's different. She risked everything to save me."  

"Sammy..." he pleaded, putting his hand out beseechingly. To his utter shock, Sam pulled Ruby's petit frame under his arm protectively and continued stepping backwards. He was purposefully keeping away from Dean as if Dean were somehow the threat here. Disbelieving, Dean took another step and watched Sam retreat again. Reminiscent to the feeling of dropping quickly in an elevator, Dean's stomach plunged as he watched his own brother move abortively to protect the abomination in his arms.  

"Dean, I love her," his brother said as he stepped back again, stumbling over the scattered blocks of fake money that still littered the ground. Dean's eyes flicked to the mess at his brother’s feet, the money and the tarp. Without their flashlights pointed at it, the tarp was just a dark surface. The glowing trap that had imprisoned Crowley a few moments ago was all but forgotten now. Deans fingers twitched for a weapon as he wondered what kind of damage could be done to a demon with the knives that John and Jim had made.   

A quick glance at the older men told Dean that they were sharing his thoughts - the two were drawing weapons now and exchanging a look. The men didn't advance, but they were waiting with weapons at the ready to see what would happen next. Dean longed for one of them to toss him a knife. With one in hand, it would be easy enough to take a leap at her. She was just a few feet away. Sam was backing up with her and for a beat, Dean almost wondered why. He had no weapon so why was his brother backing away in fear?

Then, as the thought crossed his mind, Dean saw something. It was just a flicker really, but it meant something. Watching his brother's face even more intently, he saw Sam's eyes meet his earnestly. Then, with intentional focus, those eyes flicked towards the devils trap, and returned to hold his gaze again. Sam was telling him something and he hoped that it was real; not just imagined on his part, in desperation and fear.

He continued imploring his brother to see reason while he advanced another step and measured his brother’s reaction. "She's a demon, Sam," he continued, "not even human. She didn't cut a deal with a witch to save you... she did it to save her own damn skin. The same way she turned you over to Crowley before. It's all for her Sammy. She doesn't love you. You were just her 'get out of hell free' card." 

When Sam responded again, there was no mistaking the message in his eyes. Sam's gaze darted purposefully to the left and held there for a beat before fixing on him again. There was no mistaking this. It was a signal. Sam was with him and Sam had a plan. Feeling empowered, Dean was able to ignore the rest of his brother’s words. They were meaningless. He tuned out his brother as Sam pretended to beg him on Ruby's behalf. He continued the false dialog as he slowly advanced on the couple, giving Sam the excuse he needed to keep backing closer to the devils trap with his arm around Ruby. 

Then, with his heart pounding, he waited for a signal from his brother. With the dip of Sam's chin, Dean lurched. Sam pivoted. They moved as one, their combined momentum spinning the unsuspecting demon to the ground inside their trap. With a quick hand, Dean reached out to pick up a discarded flashlight as he tumbled past it. Ruby screamed as she squirmed against them and Dean fumbled over her to dive out of the trap as he flicked the light on. A few feet away, Sam was doing the same. They both rolled up onto their knees, keeping their flashlights steady as they stabilized, illuminating the lines of the trap again and caging Ruby there.  

Pushing carefully from his knees to his feet, Dean allowed himself a glimpse at the girl’s face. It was twisted in rage. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she bellowed. "Sam? Really? You're gonna do me like this after I saved your soul?" 

"I know," said Sam, his face going soft as he looked at her. "I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?" she gaped, "I can't believe you!" 

"I do love you," he said weakly, surrendering his flashlight to Pastor Jim who'd come up behind him. Dean watched silently as John stepped up to put his arms around Sam, pulling him back a few paces from the trap. From the periphery, Cas stepped up and took the flashlight from Jim. He and Dean stood on opposite sides of the circle, both holding the lights steady to keep the trap working. Despite the agitated demon that shrieked and paced between them, their eyes stayed on each other, steady and strong. 

"How can you do this to me?" she demanded of Sam as Jim took out his paper again and began reading the exorcism in Latin. 

"Me?" challenged Sam from his father’s grip, "How could you trade me to Crowley? Even if you only knew me one night, how could you do it? I never could've sold you out - not even back then." 

"What can I say?" she threw back at him. "I needed a break from the constant torture." Then, her voice softened as she turned to pleading and her face grew pitiful. "Don't you get it?" she implored, "It's hell, Sam, and even for a demon... hell is... well, it's hell. Can you really not understand why I'd trade anything to not have to go back there? Is it so hard to imagine what a person would agree to if it would stop the pain for even an hour? A minute?" 

"You were going to sell my child," he whispered, leaning on John. Dean didn't like looking away from Cas for too long, but continued to watch as his father held Sam back, keeping him from getting too close to the trap.

"I can understand doing some pretty awful things in your position" admitted Sam. "And honestly, I think I could forgive you for most anything... even for what you did to me. But do you really think I could ever get past the fact that you would've sold our own child into hell, just to save yourself?" 

While Sam was speaking, Jim's words began having their desired effect. Dean watched as Ruby bent under the weight of the magic and began to cough black smoke. Looking back across the void at Cas, Dean tried to keep his eyes there. But, it was too difficult. He gave up and let himself watch as his brother’s face flicked back and forth between love, pity, and anger, while Ruby fell to the ground writhing and begging for mercy. 

"Don't you see?" she pleaded, "I've betrayed him. It'll be worse now than it ever was before! I'll have the king of hell on my ass - there's no corner of hell I can hide in."  

Much like Crowley, Ruby's voice began to fade as her place in this world was forfeited. The voice that rose from her throat slid back and forth between something human and something evil and monstrous. The deep timbre of it and the cadence of it reminded Dean of the sound emitted from a record player when someone drags their finger on an album to slow down the revolutions. The discordant sound of it made his balls pull up inside his body and his shoulders curl inward with fear. The sight of her essence, a cloud of dark, sulfurous smoke, sinking down into the ground around her body as it grew still, sent Dean's eyes to his pastor for a sign of reassurance. He found it too. Jim's face, red with exertion as he chanted, wasn't fearful. The man might be old and grey and kind beyond measure, but he wasn't weak. He was strong in his beliefs and a towering example for the rest of them as he bravely stood toe-to-toe with evil.  

When it was over and the last of the putrid black smoke had dissipated into the ground, silence seemed to fill the tent. The space seemed bigger now, with just the five of them still standing. Sam had slumped to the ground as he'd watched Ruby meet her end, but now John was pulling him to his feet. Dean dropped his light and moved in to hug his brother. John leaned in too, wrapping his arm around both of them. Then Jim was there too, arms surrounding the Winchesters as they all breathed relief. The group stayed like that for a moment, drawing strength from one another.

When they broke apart, the men wiped at their misty eyes and began thanking and congratulating each other. Wanting to hug his man, Dean looked around for Cas. His friend was no longer at the edge of the devil’s trap, and a quick sweep of the room found him peering out of the tent flaps into the night.  

Stepping up behind his lover, Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and peered over the man's shoulder. The first thing he noticed was how quiet the night was. There were stars overhead and the moon glowed softly on the peaks of surrounding tents. It was peaceful.

But then, Dean saw movement. Instantly he tensed, wondering what new nightmare was about to descend on them. 

"It's okay," whispered Cas. 

"What was that?" 

"Not what," corrected Cas. "Who."  

"Okay,  _who_  was that?" 

"I wasn't the only one, Dean. There were more mothers than mine who were willing to trade their children." 

"Oh- 

"Yes, Dean, there are many of us. And it would seem that we are the only ones left." 

Of course there were others. How had he forgotten? Being in the tent with so much focus on Sammy had kept Dean's mind from even contemplating the outside world. But, beyond the striped walls of Crowley's tent, there was an entire world still spinning. Part of that world was this carnival which now lay steeped in silence. Eerie silence.

If the carnage they'd already witnessed was any indication, then the entirety of this venue was probably littered with the corpses of carny workers and animals whose souls no longer labored in slavery here but had moved on to their final damnation in hell. It was a sobering thought. And, amidst the tents and trucks and trailers and campers, there was an evil witch running free. She was probably looking everything over, figuring out how much cash was on hand, how many dead she had to dispose of, and how to procure the workers that she'd need to operate this carnival ghost-town.  

"What do we do?" he asked as he exhaled into the soft cotton of Cas' shirt. 

"I - I don't know, Dean."     

Behind him, Dean could hear the muffled voices of his father and brother as they talked to Pastor Jim, likely assessing the situation and deciding what to do next. Cas slipped from his arms then, stepping out into the night. Before he followed his friend outside, Dean chanced a glance over his shoulder at his family. They were stooping down as they talked, picking up the bundles of money and tossing them back onto the tarp.  

The air outside was moving softly, barely a whisper of a breeze. The silvery moonlight danced over everything and the only discernible movement came from the soft flutter of the flags that decorated the peaks of each tent.  

"The youngest will be in their sleeping quarters," whispered Cas. "The rest will be scattered around the grounds and probably wondering what just happened. We'll need to get around to everyone and explain things." 

"It's probably best to leave the kids for last, don'tcha think?" asked Dean. 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Well, they're probably still asleep. I would assume it's mostly the adults that are awake at this hour, right?" 

"If they felt what I just felt," answered Cas, "then no one slept through it." 

"What did you feel?" asked Dean, remembering the way Castiel had crumbled to the ground. 

"I can't explain it," said Cas, "but it felt like the entire world shook. Then I was falling. And tearing. It was as if I was being pulled apart from the inside. Then everything went black. Then next thing I knew, I was laying in your lap and I looked up at you and you were crying." 

"I wasn't crying," he blustered, scrambling to explain away the emotional wreck that Cas must've seen when he had regained consciousness. Cas looked at him intently. Knowing that Castiel probably saw right past his pretenses, Dean abandoned efforts to deny his tears and nodded acknowledgement instead. It was a strange thing to allow himself to be vulnerable with someone, to trust them not to exploit the weakness. It felt right though, to trust Castiel.     

"I think that what I was feeling was Crowley leaving," continued Cas, seemingly unaware that Dean was having a moment. "Or maybe it was just his hold on me coming loose, I'm not sure. But I know that when I came around again, I had never felt so light. And then I saw your face. Dean, am I free now? Is this what freedom feels like?" Dean was unable to hold back the smile that was spreading across his face. 

"I think so, Cas," he whispered as he leaned in and folded the man into his arms.  

Goosebumps broke out over the back of his neck as Castiel whispered, "I feel like a new man, Dean, I feel like... like I could fly if I wanted to..."  

Still smiling, happier than he'd ever been, Dean crushed the man to his chest and held him there as he continued to try and find words that might fully express his joy.

As they lingered there, another voice floated in on the soft breeze and captured Dean's attention. It was distant, coming to him from a dozen yards away at the mouth of the tent. But, the terse tone and angry voice gave away the speaker as being John Winchester. Pulling Dean's attention from the warm glow of Castiel's embrace, the words began to sink in as Dean lent his ear to them. 

"...didn't raise him to be no fairy..." 

Hearing that caused Dean to stiffen. Cas seemed to notice and made to pull away but Dean held him there and they stood in each other’s arms with Dean pretending not to hear the conversation. In reality, he was hanging onto every word. 

"John, I don't think that kind of terminology is appropriate," reprimanded a second voice, "and I certainly don't think the sentiment is applicable to Dean even if it were." 

"You're a man of the cloth, Jim, you know this isn't God's way... look at the two of them... you gonna tell me you're okay with this?" 

"In John 8:7 Jesus tells us that whoever is without sin should cast the first stone." 

"W-What?" 

"Jesus has made it clear to us in his word that as sinners, we're not meant to be judging other sinners. We are all equally sinful in the eyes of the Lord. So, we all need forgiveness and each man must confess on his own. We all fall short of how God wants us to live and we all must repent. When we do, God grants us his salvation by grace. You see, John, not one of us is any more righteous than the other in God's eyes. So, if we're feeling that our sins are somehow lesser than those of others, we must admit that our judgement is not being made on God's behalf but rather of our own desire to feel superior to others." 

"I never thought of it like that. Guess I never thought about it much at all." 

"Well, John, I hope you'll consider thinking of it that way in the future. You've got two sons who have grown into young men. Do you want to know them? Or do you want them running away from you and hiding who they really are. Your son is right over there. He's the same person he was yesterday, but he's allowed you to see more of him than you have in the past. He's shown you this side of himself and he's hoping you'll accept him. Will you accept him? Can you do that John?" 

As Castiel's arms tightened around him, Dean realized that his friend had been listening too and was offering what little support he could. Dean tipped his head to the side and kissed his friends temple, grateful for the company as he listened to hear what his fate would be with his father.  

The silence was a long one, but eventually John let out a long sigh and said, "I'll try Jim." 

"I know you love your son, John," said Jim, "and I'm sure this will take some getting used to. But at the end of the day, you don't have to love all of his choices. You just have to love him." 

"I do. You know I do." 

Having heard this, Dean had heard enough. Satisfied that things would eventually be okay between himself and his father, he turned his attention back to Cas. "What do ya wanna do about the others?" 

"I want to help them, Dean." 

"Okay then," he said, pulling out of their long embrace, "aside from rounding everyone up and explaining what happened, what do you think they'll need?" 

"I'm not sure. We've all been with the carnival since we were small. Most of us haven't been exposed to the outside world much at all. I mean, we see some television from time to time, occasionally a movie. We talk to the people who visit the carnival and hear about their lives. I think we have at least a basic knowledge of how things work, but I have no idea how any of us would actually survive out there.  I mean, where will we go when we leave here? Where will we sleep? How will we get money to live? " 

"I told you before I even went into Crowley's tent that if I was walking out of here tonight, you were going with me. I've wanted to bring you home with me since I was twelve years old. Cas, will you come with me this time?" 

"Yes, Dean." The answer was so soft, it was almost a whisper and those captivating eyes dipped down, almost shy, as he added, 'Thank you'. When Cas looked up again, there was a question in his eyes. But before he could verbalize it, Dean was already opening his mouth to answer.   

"We'll figure out something for the others," he reassured. "We'll find a way to help them." 

"Yes, we will," said Jim, stepping up beside them. Dean hadn't even realized the pastor was approaching, let alone listening to their conversation, but he was glad to see that he was here and ready to help. 

"Got any ideas Padre?"  

"Well, how many are there? Do we even know?" 

"There's many of us," replied Cas, "though I've never counted. I'm sorry I can't give you a number." Dean loved that Cas already seemed to trust Jim. 

"Do you know them all?" Jim asked. 

"Oh yes, some better than others," answered Cas, "but yes, we all know each other." 

"Well then, I think it's best if we start walking. We're short on time so it's probably best to try to round up everyone quickly and then explain things to them all at once. That'll be much faster than one by one. The witch said we had to be out of here by daylight and that only gives us a couple hours." 

With that said, Dean felt a surge of adrenaline. He glanced behind him to where John and Sam were talking and hollered for them to join the conversation. With minimal discussion, the group made a plan to circle the park in a counter clock-wise pattern, collecting all who'd been freed and bringing them to the parking lot. Once there, they'd be able to address the group with a brief explanation and begin transporting them away from Rowena in small groups with the two vehicles they'd brought here.  

Cas mentioned that he'd seen one figure ambling around near Crowley's tent, so before they embarked, they split up and cased the surrounding area which had encompassed the adults-only section of the carnival. As they cut between tents, they found two men. One was recognized by Castiel as a bartender from the saloon where girls waited for their johns. The other, Dean was stunned to see, was Alfie. The boy looked a bit different in freedom than he had in slavery. He didn't strut in his cut off denim shorts and tight t-shirt. In fact, he barely spoke. Immediately Dean's heart went out to him. He hoped that the boy wouldn't recognize him as a previous customer; not so much because he wanted to keep it secret, but more because he didn't want the boy to feel shame while being rescued.

Preparing to head out, Sam and John worked to tie off the tarp which had been loaded with the stray cash and heaped back into the wheelbarrow.  With John pushing the wheelbarrow and their first two rescues in tow, their small group walked up the path towards the rest of the carnival.

Their number grew as they canvased the midway and circus tents. By the time they reached the encampment where the carny's living quarters were parked, they had almost twenty survivors. The group whispered softly amongst themselves and as they hiked along, Cas encouraging them to stick together until they had recovered everyone. 

When they started walking down the narrow aisles of campers that comprised 'camp', Dean's ability to remain detached began to wear thin. Some of the kids were so very young. A few clung to each other, holding hands and looking around as though they expected a monster to leap out at them from around every corner. Belatedly Dean realized that was exactly what they were used to. These kids hadn't been raised by parents, or even foster care. They'd been raised by black-eyed demons and kept obedient by jailers dressed as clowns. He could have wept for the lot of them. They were so weary too... and confused. He scooped a small one who looked tired and perched her on his hip as they hiked on. Around him, Cas and Sam and Jim were all doing the same. The carnage of bodies, both human and animal, was awful to see. He whispered to the child he carried, reminding her over and over not to look. 

Hearing Cas call his name, Dean turned his attention from the harrowed child he carried to his friend and lover. Cas was poised on the aluminum step of a camper and waiting for him. As Dean drew closer, Cas said, "I want you to meet someone special." 

Dean nodded and waited for him to open the door of the RV. But, instead of knocking or entering, the man spoke again, seemingly wanting to explain more. 

"I have no way to know for sure," Cas confessed, "but I think this may be my sister. Everyone says we must have the same mother because we look so much alike. We've always been close and she's very important to me." 

"Well then," said Dean reverently, "she'll be very important to me too." 

Accepting this with a smile, Cas finally turned the knob and opened the door. His call into the small space as answered immediately. The voice was barely audible to Dean from his position outside, but he could tell that the speaker was nervous as she asked what was going on. "Something amazing has happened," answered Cas as he reached in and extracted the young girl by her hand. "Don't be afraid, it's good news." 

Emerging from the doorway and coming down the steps was a young girl, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. She had raven hair, ivory skin, and wide pink lips. Her eyes though, they pierced him. Like Castiel's, they were a most remarkable color and clarity, but the magnetic quality of them was unmistakable. Dean would've sworn on a stack of bibles that this girl was related to Cas by blood. It was simply undeniable. 

Cas pulled her to his side and turned her to face Dean. "This," he said to her, "is the boy I told you about. The secret boy." 

"This is Dean?  _The_ Dean?" she whispered in awe. 

"The one and only," he winked at her. Once he'd done that, she looked to Cas as if he were crazy.  

"Really?" she said to her brother with obvious distaste, "This guy?" 

Dean almost burst out laughing at the look on Cas' face.  

"Um, yes, this is the one," he chuckled, pulling her into a quick hug and then turning her to face Dean again. Then, he introduced them officially by saying, "Hael, this is Dean. Dean, this is my sister, Hael." 

She smiled uncertainly at him and then looked back at Cas who gave her the short version of events as they began walking. There wasn't time for much conversation as the herd moved quickly down the rows of campers, knocking on doors and absorbing those who already stood in plain sight waiting for an explanation.  

"Daylight in less than thirty minutes," said Sammy as he jogged up to join Dean, Cas, and Hael. "Cas, can you maybe address the group and ask if anyone knows of someone who should be with us and isn't?" 

 Cas did as he was asked, hopping up onto the surface of a small picnic table at the rear of a nearby Winnebago. He called for everyone's attention and as the crowd fell silent to listen, he addressed the group. He said he was sorry things were so rushed but that once they'd escaped the grounds, there would be time to figure things out. Then he asked them all to look around and speak up if there was someone who should be with them and wasn't. For a few minutes it was chaos as everyone began talking at once, moving around and calling out for one another. Slowly it quieted as everyone who was sought was found. While Dean stood next to Sam and watched, the first traces of pastel light were creeping into the eastern sky along the horizon line.   

"Daylight is breaking," whispered Sam. 

Dean nodded agreement, adjusted the heavy child on his hip and said, "We better get moving." 

The two stepped over to Jim and John who were at the rear of the group. Two little tykes were perched precariously on top of the load in the wheelbarrow and John was focused on keeping it from tipping as they started walking again. Jim also had his arms full of a tired child.

To their right was a wide spread of unmown grass, a vacant field, on the other side of which sat the parking lot. Gesturing toward it with a pointing finger, Dean suggested cutting across rather than going back through the carnival. With dawn bearing down on them, the men seemed to agree easily. No one wanted to risk another run in with Rowena.  

Dean headed back around the edge of the group and approached the picnic table, tapping Cas on the leg to get his attention and passing along the change of plans. After making the announcement to the group, Castiel hopped down, taking Dean’s hand as they led the group away from camp and towards the only two vehicles parked in the lot. Holding hands with Cas publicly and knowing that his father was near was strange; it didn't feel real. In fact, the predawn mist hanging over the field lent a hazy, otherworldly feel to their surroundings. It was like walking in a dream. His sore muscles and the weight of the youngster he carried were the only confirmation that any of this was real.

As they moved over the uneven ground, Sam fell in beside Dean and was then flanked by Pastor Jim. Both men were animatedly discussing the different ways that they could handle all the difficulties they'd encounter over the next few hours and days. Wondering if his father was watching he and Cas hold hands, Dean chanced a glance behind them. The man seemed to be paying no attention, completely focused on the wheelbarrow he was pushing as it pitched and lurched over the rough terrain.  

By the time they reached the parking lot, the men had the beginnings of a plan in place. Dean looked around at the group. Everyone had muddy feet and their pants were wet up to the knees from walking through the tall, wet grass. Most were quiet now, eyes fixed on Cas and wondering what would come next. Stepping up to John's black pickup, Sam dropped the tailgate down and gestured for Castiel to climb up on it. Cas bent to deposit the child he carried on the ground before jumping up there, and then he held the attention of all as he began to speak.  

Once more, Dean's eyes wandered over to his father. The man was wiping his sweaty brow on his sleeve, chest heaving from the effort of pushing such a heavy load across the field. When he looked up, his eyes met Dean's for the first time. To his surprise, the man didn't flinch in disgust or look away. There wasn't a trace of anger on his face. In fact, the man nodded to him. Dean gave a nod back and then forced his eyes away, not wanting to ruin the moment. It may not seem like much to anyone else, but to Dean it was everything. It was acceptance.  

The sun was just coming up but already the day was hot and the air was humid, sticky. Dean looked up at Cas standing on the tailgate of John's truck. Behind him the heavens shone with an ambrosial swirl of orange and pink and the distant midway rose up as a striking black silhouette against the pastel sky. The shape of Cas's body in the foreground, towering over Dean, practically glowed. He was happy. Free. It was all over him. Dean wanted to be closer. Soak it up. Bask in the warmth of it.  

When Castiel finally jumped down from the tailgate, Dean snapped back to reality and returned his attention on the task at hand. He and Cas stood at the rear of the truck and helped boost up as many people as they could fit, each taking a seat in the bed of the truck. It was obvious that no one wanted to be left behind when that truck rolled out because they all pressed in tight and then proceeded to layer themselves higher, sitting on laps and then pulling the small children up on top. Once loaded, John pulled himself up into the driver’s seat while Sam and Jim climbed in on the passenger side. With Sam scrunched in the middle they pulled out slowly, cautious with so many packed into the truck bed. The body of the truck was riding low, wheel wells barely giving clearance for the tires to turn with so much weight on board.  

The rest of the survivors settled down on the ground to wait their turn. Dean and Cas turned to the wheelbarrow and pushed it over the Impala. Pulling some unused rope from the trunk they managed to secure the bundle a little better and get it loaded into the trunk. Then, with nothing left to do but wait, Dean put the key in the ignition and turned it backwards so that he could play music without actually turning the car on. The music seemed to have a calming effect on the group as they waited, keeping an unnerving silence from pressing in on them. Dean settled on the ground, leaning back against the driver’s side door and Cas slid down to join him.  

"I remember this song," said Cas wistfully, turning to Dean with wonder in his eyes. "You played it... that night." 

"You've got a good memory," he said with a smile. The two of them let their heads sag back against the car and they listened with the rest the group as Robert Plant lent his legendary voice to Dean's favorite love song. He wanted to appear calm to the displaced carnival workers, so he stayed in a relaxed posture. But, he didn't close his eyes to enjoy the tune. He now had one of the homemade demon knives hidden in his boot and his police issued piece in his right jacket pocket. With his hand ready to draw if needed, he swept his gaze back and forth over the distant carnival with precision, attuned to the possibility that trouble might come to them while they rested here.  

It seemed like a very long time before Jim and John returned with the empty truck, a plume of dust rising up in their wake on the gravel road. When it came into sight, he and Cas got to their feet. As quickly as possible they loaded up the last of Crowley's victims. Wasting no time, they hopped into the Impala and followed the truck as it rolled out of the lot. It was impossible to keep his eyes from the rear view mirror when they were driving away, fearful they'd be pursued. The silhouette of the Ferris wheel was the last thing to disappear as they put distance between Castiel and his past.  

"I can't believe this is happening," Cas said to him as they accelerated onto the county blacktop. Dean tipped his chin in acknowledgement, rolling down his window as he did so. Adjusting his side mirror, he stole a few more glances behind him, but nothing followed.  

"I think we're gonna make it," he said softly, almost afraid to jinx it. It got easier to relax when they finally coasted into town. Having civilization around them seemed to help make things feel more normal. When they turned into the church parking lot, Dean pulled into a parking spot. He and Cas hopped out and moved to the truck again, assisting the passengers down over the tailgate. The weary bunch followed Jim up the sidewalk and into the building, no one speaking as they were led down a flight of stairs and into the basement.

This space was home to a fair-sized kitchen at one end and a large open area filled with rectangular tables. The congregation used this as a meeting place for potlucks and receptions. Now, the tables had been taken down. Dean saw his father across the room organizing that effort. The oblong folding tables were being stacked along one wall in the corner and the aluminum chairs were still being folded up and deposited along the adjacent wall by many hands. 

Some people were milling about or pacing apprehensively while others were busy helping in the effort to clear the floor of tables and chairs. Kids darted about playing silly games and burning off nervous energy.  

"Where's Sammy?" asked Dean when Pastor Jim walked past.  

"He took my car and went to the discount store to pick up a few things while we went back for the others. He should be back any time."  

Dean was about to ask how he could help when Sam's voice cut through the din. Turning toward the stairs, Dean saw his brother coming down, arms laden with heavy bags. He and Cas headed over to assist. They deposited the bags in the kitchen and then followed Sam back outside to help carry in the rest.  

"What is all this?" asked Dean as he approached the vehicle and saw it crammed full of bags.  

"It's not even half of what we need," complained Sam as they each took all they could carry and headed back inside. "It's sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, food and supplies and stuff." 

"Gave that platinum card a work out right, Sammy?" 

"That's right," he laughed, dropping the goods off and clomping back up the stairs. Dean and Cas followed suit and soon found themselves telling Jim that was all of it. They all stood for a moment surveying the supplies and then Jim said, "I'll get go around and get the names on a list. I'd like to make some order from this chaos." 

"Alright," nodded Sam, pulling Dean with him, "We'll head to the grocery store and be back as soon as we can. Cas can explain things to them while we're gone." 

"Get here by eight," Jim replied sharply, "I have service at nine." 

That's when Dean realized it was Sunday. "What's the sermon about today, Padre?" teased Dean, knowing the man hadn't had even a moment to prepare anything.  

"Stewardship," laughed the pastor.  

Dean looked at his brother with confusion when he joined in the laughter. "What's that mean?" he asked, irritated that he didn't get the joke.  

"Charitable giving," answered Sam as they headed back towards the car.   

They didn't have much time at the store, needing to back in time to relieve Jim for church. He pushed the cart while Sam moved ahead and tossed things in. When one cart was filled, they went back for another and another, loading up three in total. They were sweating by the time they'd loaded everything into the car.  

John was waiting outside for them when they rolled up, ready to help carry the supplies inside. They hustled up and down the stairs and when they'd finished, the kitchen was stacked to the rafters.  

"Here," said Jim, foisting a clipboard into Dean's hands, "This is a list of everyone we brought. Please go around and be sure each name is spelled right and get their age, their birthday, and their preference for a roommate if they have one. Also, ask for volunteers to help with cooking and serving as well as cleaning up. I have to head upstairs and get things started." 

Dean watched Jim grab John and ask him to come watch the stairs. "If anyone from the service tries to come downstairs, just tell them that there's a private group using the reception area today and don't let them come down. We don't need anyone nosing around down here." The two cut through the chaos, Jim springing up the stairs and leaving John behind as a bouncer of sorts.  

Doing as he was asked, Dean moved around the room collecting information on each person they'd saved. Cas remained at his elbow the entire time, reassuring his people that these men were trying to help them and doing all he could to help. Sam stayed in the kitchen for quite some time, just organizing all that they'd bought today and preparing it for easy distribution.   

By the time Jim returned from his service, looking exhausted beyond words, they'd managed to make order from the chaos. The walls now boasted bright yellow pieces of copy paper which were taped up every ten feet or so. Each had a name on it indicating the personal space of one refugee. Each person had been provided something to sleep on and most had taken the time to settle into their space. Some were on mats with sleeping bags, others had single size air mattresses and blankets. Each had pillows and the necessary bedding too. Sam had now slid open the wide windows that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space and a line of people were shuffling forward to pick up a plate of doughnuts, a Styrofoam cup of milk, and a piece of fresh fruit. Jim seemed quite impressed. He begged off for a few minutes to change his clothes and Dean turned his attention back to the work at hand. 

Not long after the service, Dean noticed a group of elderly ladies coming down the stairs with Jim and he headed over to see what was going on. "This is the quilting group," Jim explained. "They're donating all quilts they have at the moment and they'll be setting up a sewing circle in the back. Anyone who wants to learn to sew can join. They're going to make as many blankets as they can."

Dean smiled as he watched the group of white-haired old ladies toddle to the far end of the room, smiling at everyone they passed. John set about arranging some tables for them and helping them with their boxes of supplies. Once they were settled in and working, he distributed the quilts and Dean couldn't help but be impressed by his father’s diligence in assisting the cause. An announcement was made to the room and it didn’t take long for a handful of ex-carnival workers to drift over. Some just lingered nearby to watch, while others pulled up chairs and sat down to learn, pulled into friendly conversation as they tried their hands at sewing.

Later that day, another group of ladies entered, loaded down with boxes and bags. Dean watched them be introduced to Sammy. This seemed to be a younger group than the quilters had been but he and Cas immediately moved to intercept, taking the burden from their arms and helping carry everything to the kitchen. "This is the women's mission group," said Sam by way of introduction. "They've come to cook dinner for everyone."

Dean watched as the ladies set to work in the kitchen. Then, at his father’s urging, they began setting up a few tables in the center of the room, creating a place where everyone could sit down and eat. Within the hour there were huge roasters lined up on the counter and the entire space was filled with the scent of marinara and garlic bread. Again, those rescued from the carnival lined up and filled plates.  

As the day drew to a close, Dean marveled at how many volunteers had come and gone in a single day. The counter was littered with pans of cookies and brownies that had been freshly baked and brought over. There were boxes and boxes of donated toys that had been deposited in a far corner of the room where the kids now congregated, and on each child's bed, a new stuffed animal waited for them. There was a used television that someone had brought and hooked up, and sitting next to it were several milk crates full of movies that had been dropped off as a donation as well. 

Near the doorway to the kitchen there was now a master list of jobs that needed to be done and a sign-up sheet for those who were able to help. From now on, someone from the church would be here around the clock in coordinated shifts, just to be available in case there was a problem. Incoming monetary donations would be appropriated as needed for things like clothes, sanitary products, medicine and other necessities. The sign-up sheet had some empty spaces to fill though, most notably the spot allotted for teachers and tutors.  

"Relax," said Sam, coming up behind Dean and probably guessing what he was thinking. "It's only been one day. Give it some time and the needs will be met. People will want to help." 

Dean nodded, knowing his brother was right. Rolling his neck and shoulders to chase away the soreness was not effective. His back was hurting too. It had been a very, very long day. His body was tired through and through, and his high from seeing things go so well was starting to wear off. Jim and John had begged off hours ago, both planning to go to Pastor Jim's house and get some sleep. Sam looked like he was ready to call it a day too.  

"You gonna come back to the house?" Dean asked his brother. 

With a smug grin, Sam said, "Nope," and pointed to the sign-up sheet. Dean chuckled as he noticed that Sam was signed up to be the overnight person at the church tonight.

"Are you tryin' to make up for lost time with good deeds?" teased Dean. "Or is this your way of makin' sure me and Cas get some time alone?"

Sam laughed, but never got a chance to answer as he was called away by someone else. Dean looked around for Castiel. The few who were still awake were either sitting in small clusters and talking or sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television. The rest were laying down on their makeshift beds. Cas, he saw, was with Hael. The two of them were in the kids’ corner, playing board games with the older kids. Hael had a wee one in her lap that seemed to be nodding off, though the child was making a solid effort to fight sleep. 

Walking over, Dean bent to one knee and asked if Cas wanted to stay here for the night or go home. "Home?" parroted Cas. The vulnerability in those wide cerulean eyes set Dean's heart pounding. Oh, how he loved this man. 

"Yeah Cas, home," he answered, loving the sound of it. Cas seemed to warm just from hearing the word. He glanced over at Hael before answering. Once she gave him a nod of encouragement, he got to his feet, whispering a 'good night' to his sister. Dean held out a hand and Cas took it, allowing himself to be pulled towards the exit. They left together, Cas looking back at his people once more while they climbed the stairs.

Led Zeppelin was still playing when they slid into the Impala. "They're going to be okay, aren't they?" whispered Cas. 

"Yeah," Dean answered confidently, slinging his arm around Cas’ shoulders, "and so are we." The rest of the drive was silent but for the music. Pulling up to the house, Dean parked on the curb and got out. He and Cas walked through the door together and as they entered through the kitchen, Cas looked around and commented that everything looked just like he’d remembered it.

“That’s cause nothing’s changed,” mused Dean.

“I need to use the bathroom,” said Cas.

Dean pointed down the hall and Cas took the path directed, closing the door behind him. Dean headed for his room, grabbing some cold water from the faucet on the way. Entering his bedroom, Dean set the drink down on his bedside table and turned on the lamp. It crossed his mind to clean up a little while he waited for Cas, but for some strange reason his attention was fixated on the poster hanging above his bed. As she had for over fifteen years, Tawny Kitaen smiled down on him, voluptuous and sexy. Dean hated her for what she symbolized in his mind – hiding, pretending. Weakness.

As he stood there staring, Dean remembered how surprised he’d been by the sense of shame that had passed over him the last time he’d brought Castiel into this room. Cas had taken one look around and known that this room was a fallacy – a skillful ruse created to keep anyone who entered from knowing the real Dean Winchester. Only a moment ago Cas had stepped into Dean’s house and mentioned that everything looked the same. The thought of his friend entering this room and seeing it exactly as it had been all those years ago was loathsome. He was different now and he wanted Cas to see that.

Stepping up to the bed, Dean slipped his fingers behind the poster and slid them down to the aging yellow tape at the corner. In one smooth motion he jerked the tape from the wall and tore the picture up the middle. The thick paper tore twice more as the remainder was pulled down. Dean was crumpling it up when Cas walked in. The man paused in the doorway for a moment before entering, then crossed to stand at Dean's side with a question in his eyes.

“I was gonna clean up a little,” Dean admitted sheepishly. “Ya know, pick up the dirty clothes and maybe change the sheets. I just, well, I wanted it to be nice for you. But for some reason, the posters on the wall were bugging me more than anything else.”

“Well then,” said Cas, laying a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder, “let’s take them down.”

Unable to hold the man’s gaze, Dean bowed his head and gave a nod as he turned away. Wordlessly, he and Cas went about peeling down the dated pictures of scantily clad supermodels and pretend heroes. The house was eerily silent but for the sounds of paper being torn and crinkled. As he pulled down picture after picture, Dean noticed a melancholy mood creeping up on him. Some of these posters had been with him since he was in grade school. Though most of them had been hung for show, they were part of him now. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d only been part of the lie he’d been living; they were still part of who he was and it wasn’t easy to just cast that part of him aside.

Having moved in opposite directions around the room as they cleared the walls, Dean and Cas eventually wound up meeting in the middle with only one poster left between them. Samantha Fox. She was spread out seductively in a lace negligee with the words ‘touch me’ scrawled across the top in hot pink. Dean didn’t look at Cas, but he felt the man’s presence at his elbow as he reached up and began to rip it down. Cas seemed to be giving him plenty of space as he balled it up and tossed it aside. It was as though he could sense how raw Dean was at this moment. Standing in his room while it was so barren and empty, Dean couldn’t help but feel stripped down too. Vulnerable. 

“It’s strange,” he said when he finally looked at Cas, “I’m finally being honest about myself, and I’ve never been less sure of who I really am.”

Magnetic blue eyes held his gaze. “You’re the man who saved his brother tonight,” said Castiel firmly. “The same man who freed dozens of souls, including mine, from the slavery of Crowley’s carnival.” For some reason, Dean found his head dipping modestly under the weight of his lover’s praise. But, he readily slid into the man’s arms as they wrapped around him. “You’re Dean Winchester,” whispered Cas as they embraced, “and to different people, that name will probably mean different things. But to me, it is the name of the one I’ve loved since I was a boy. The one I will love for the rest of my days, no matter how few or how many. Because, to me, the name Dean Winchester means everything.”

It wasn’t easy choking back the tears as he soaked up Castiel’s affection, but the warmth of Cas’s arms and the mirth of his words seemed to pull Dean out of the funk he’d slid into upon returning home. It wasn’t just the posters, he could see that now. It was everything. The entire house and the life he’d lived in it.

Feeling strengthened, Dean blinked open his wet eyes and began to pull out of their embrace.  With a nod of acknowledgement to Cas for what he’d said, Dean kept silent. There wasn’t much he could say. For most of his life Dean had been wanting to bring Cas  _home._ Keep him, care for him, and give him the love that he deserved but had never been offered. So, he’d brought the man here… the only home Dean had ever really known.

But, as had happened a decade ago, bringing Cas to this room had only served to cast a glaring light on how much this room was not really his home. A home, after all, is a shelter from the harsh world outside. A home is a place of refuge and solace. Dean’s room, however, had never really been any of those things. Even this, his most intimate space, was nothing but a cultivated lie meant to fool onlookers about who Dean really was. Looking around at his room now, Dean had to admit that he didn’t like it despite the pep talk Cas had given him.

The barren walls lent the space a very disheartening mood. On top of that, they were actually in pretty poor shape. Cream colored paint had yellowed unevenly, especially around the outlines of his discarded posters. The shape of them was still plain as day, even though they were gone. There were curled tape tabs and nail holes everywhere, cracks in the plaster and water stains on the ceiling. The pea green carpet somehow looked even more dingy with the walls blank. Taking it all in, Dean decided that he didn’t want to be here anymore. It was time to move on.

For now, he was tired. Tired to his core. So, he moved toward the tiny bed and began peeling off the clothes he’d been wearing for far too long. Castiel followed suit, disrobing slowly as Dean turned to flick off the lamp. The two silently slid between the sheets together and arranged their limbs to fit. As they hunkered down, Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’s forehead. A few things flitted through his mind; sentiments he wanted to pass along to Cas. But, he dismissed each as it occurred to him. It seemed a bit redundant to murmur an ‘I love you’ after everything that had transpired between them. There was no need to say that he was glad to have Cas here with him – that much was obvious. It was also pointless to ramble on about the plans now forming in his mind… plans to move out of his father’s house and into a place of his own; a new home where he could settle in and build a life with Castiel. There would be plenty of time to discuss those things in the days to come, after some much needed rest. So instead of speaking, Dean gave kisses. Tickling his way from forehead to ear to neck, Dean smiled as he felt his man respond.

A heavy hand came to rest on Dean’s hip as his bedmate turned in his arms to bring their chests together. It was so good to feel Cas’ body pressed to him and Dean felt his body respond despite the exhaustion that plagued him. Growing stiff between his legs, Dean noticed a similar hardness pushing back against his own as Castiel’s cock grew thick alongside him. As he fastened his lips to the taut skin at the juncture of his lover’s neck and shoulder, Dean heard a soft sigh escape the man in his arms and he echoed it.

Cas’s skin tasted salty, a residue of sweat still clinging to him and Dean’s tongue thrilled with the taste of it. As he suckled there, his mind was blitzed by an onslaught of images, a slide show of all the salty things that would be on his tongue in the coming days. Weary as they were, there would be no sexual Olympics tonight. But as the two began grinding their hips together clumsily in the present, Dean’s mind was delving into the future to imagine all the dirty-good things he’d soon be doing with Cas. The saline taste of cum would flood his mouth when he blew Cas to orgasm and a salty, bitter flavor would coat his tongue when he slid it over the man’s pink puckered entrance and licked his way inside. Dean had never eaten ass in his life, not for anyone. But for Cas he would do it; wanted to do it. There was no part of this man that he didn’t want to know intimately, and as he imagined doing this dirty deed, he fumbled a clumsy hand down between their bodies. Taking hold of the swollen cock that bumped along next to his own, Dean began to tease it, tracing his thumb over the tip and getting used to the weight of it in his palm.

Cas, probably aroused by Dean’s fingers curling around his shaft, hitched his leg up higher and made room to add his own hand, gripping Dean tightly and starting to stroke. The build was steady once they started massaging each other’s dicks and it didn’t take long to feel the triumphant pulse of Cas shooting his load. Warm and wet, it spattered over his wrist and up his forearm. Rigid beside him in the bed, Castiel was riding the high of his climax. Dean worked him through it, jizz dripping off of him and down into the sheets. His friend sank down into the bed afterwards with a soft, satisfied smile. Turning his attention to his own end, Dean moved his slippery hand to his own member. With just a few heavy handed pulls, Dean was spilling too. He wet his friend’s belly as he came, adding to the mess in bed between them.

When he’d finished, Dean felt himself slipping away. Without a thought for how sticky they’d be upon waking, Dean used the last of his energy to wiggle closer to Cas, to tuck their bodies together comfortably, and to kiss him again. Both the men hummed softly as their lips touched and they lingered that way for a few heartbeats.

“G’nite, Cas,” Dean whispered as he felt sleep dragging him under.

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

When warm light and birdsong began to invade his pleasant blanket of restful darkness, Dean woke begrudgingly. Everything on his body hurt. His legs and back were sore from his physical endeavors the previous day and his head was aching, a dull throb radiating up from his neck. He needed more sleep, but he knew he couldn't just lay in bed until he felt better. There was far too much to be done.

As he began to order his necessary tasks into some semblance of a prioritized list, Dean nuzzled softly into the short hair on the back of Cas's head. Neither of them had been freshly showered when they crawled into this bed. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the lingering scent of sweat and dirt didn't impede his joy in sharing a bed with Cas. It didn't matter that the mattress was too small, that their hairy legs had grown sweaty where they interlaced, or that dried cum was still sticky between his fingers and on his belly. He'd take these things for the gift that they were and be grateful for them. In his arms, Castiel hummed softly and began to stretch. That's when Dean's bladder kicked in.     

Slinging his legs over the side of the bed to put feet on the floor, Dean reached out and grabbed his cell from the nightstand. He still had almost fifteen minutes before the alarm would go off. He'd set it to make sure he didn't oversleep his shift, even though he hadn’t intended to go to work today. From behind him, exploring hands ticked their way up his spine as he called in and said he was taking the day off for personal reasons. 

Then, as he got to his feet, Dean offered to share the shower with his friend and was answered with an eager smile. They were alone in the house so the two walked naked down the hall and into the bathroom, taking turns pissing while the shower heated up. Castiel's eyes were bright in the early morning light and a bit mischievous as the two ducked in behind the shower curtain together. They washed up playfully, their fingers wandering over each other and finding their ticklish spots, taking the opportunity to let their eyes rove freely over one another.

Dean took great pleasure in rolling a wet, sudsy hand over his dick and seeing Castiel's cock twitch in response to the action. The two clumsily switched places a few times, alternating who got to stand directly under the shower head. A long trail of soft bubbles was snaking its way down Castiel's tanned back and Dean tracked its progression with hungry eyes until it slid to a stop for beat, resting on the swell of those pert butt cheeks. Eventually it piled up and spilled over, leaving a few trace amounts of frothy white behind. One such patch of bubbles was perched at the top of the man’s crack. It was impossible not to reach out and put fingers to it, pull through it, and then stare as his pointer finger traced the cleft down, down.

With a groan, his man stepped back into him and as he did so, Dean twisted his wrist so that the pad of his first two fingers was upward and pressing into the soft flesh that spanned the tender inches between ball sack and ass crack. Cas whispered a 'yesss' and bent forward, placing one hand on the tile wall to steady himself as he spread his legs wider for Dean. As the man's crack pulled open, Dean saw a whorl of jet black hair around his pink pucker. With the man's legs spread in invitation, Dean's cock took notice. It filled quickly, going from lazy interest to heavy throbbing in the space of a few heartbeats. With eyes fixed on the pleated skin peeking out at him, Dean began running his fingers up and down the slippery, wet crack.

Each time he skimmed over the tender hole, Cas would arch his back and press into the touch. After a few passes, Dean curled his fingers and pushed forward with his knuckle instead. He applied pressure and let Cas thrust back against it. The action opened the tightly furled entrance a bit and he hoped that it would produce a dull ache of wanting there. After a few repetitions of that, Cas whispered a 'please' and Dean realized that he was creating an ache of wanting in himself as well as inside of Castiel.  

Dean broke the moment long enough to squeeze a fair amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand. Pushing up against Cas from behind, Dean reached around and took his lover's weighty cock in hand and with a palm full of viscous liquid he began stroking. With his free hand, Dean teased a finger over that tempting bud of flesh and loved how it trembled excitedly under his touch.

Soon Cas was panting and Dean knew his man was getting close. With a sense of smug satisfaction and pride, Dean angled his wet index finger perfectly and shoved abruptly up into the center of the that clenching hole. In front of him, Dean felt his man's frame lock up as he came, hard. Leaving his finger buried a bit past the second knuckle, he grinned as he felt Castiel's walls clamp down. Wantonly shoving himself backwards, Cas rode Dean’s finger through his release.  

While Castiel was enjoying his orgasm, Dean let go of the man’s shaft and stepped back a bit, not extracting his finger until he'd gotten a good look at it, squeezed firmly by a tight pink rim. Withdrawing ever so slowly, Dean watched in fascination as the tiny little hole he'd made began to close up. Cas seemed somewhat dazed as he returned to standing. Eyes that were normally clear and bright were now drooping and dopey, as was the satisfied smile that was spread over his face. Kissing him gently at first, Cas pressed Dean back against the wall of the shower and Dean surrendered to the man as his mouth became increasingly more urgent and passionate. 

Dean tipped his head back and let his hands fall to his sides as Castiel bent to tease nipples with his tongue. Between their bodies, Cas took Dean in one hand, holding his shaft tightly and tracing circles over his tip with his thumb. Nipple teasing turned to nipple nibbling as Castiel fumbled for the shampoo and filled his palm with it. By the time Cas started to really stroke him, Dean was ready to cum. The teasing had been drug out long enough as far as he was concerned and from the first downward stroke, Dean was fucking up into that heavy hand.

Cas was hungrily sucking at his nipples and neck while he jacked Dean, and as much as he was enjoying the build up toward his climax, it was impossible to ignore his own asshole which seemed to be jealous of all the attention that Castiel's had gotten. It ached between his cheeks and in a fleeting moment of hopefulness, Dean surprised himself by lifting his leg and perching his foot on the side of the tub. The not-so-subtle invitation hadn't been wasted on Cas. In response to the change in position, the man returned his mouth to Dean's for a harsh kiss and Dean could feel the man's smile against his lips as Cas slid a hand around behind him and wiggled fingers teasingly down into his crack.  

"Yeah," he panted, hoping Cas would breach him, "Yeah, Cas, yeah."  

The tip of a finger seemed poised to enter and Dean waited for it, but it didn't happen. The traitorous digit just wiggled there, not quite enough to push him over the edge. Adding to the torture, the hand on Dean's cock sped up and slowed down several times, keeping him on edge while he waited for that probing finger to push in. "C'mon man," he barked, "C'mon Cas, do it." 

In response, the finger bored into him hard and fast. The hand on his cock tightened and sped up, stripping his length furiously. "Fuck!" he cursed as fulfillment washed over him. Warmth spread outward from his core, tingling into his limbs to numb his fingers and toes.

With his hole speared harshly, Dean's pleasure finally surged and flooded to his groin, his load spurting hot from his angry tip. Cas held him and suckled at his neck while the feeling of ecstasy reverberated in him, slowly growing weaker and fading away. 

When he finally opened his eyes, Dean was met with a radiant smile. Sheepishly, Dean took his leg down from where it was braced on the side of the tub and shared a conspiratorial smile with his friend as they soaped up their hands and made sure that the last of their spend had washed down the drain. Weariness set into his bones as they dried off and Dean wished that he'd started the coffee maker before heading to the shower. 

"Where are your father and brother?" Cas asked as they dressed. 

"Sammy took the overnight shift at church," he answered, "but I think he was just makin' sure we had the place to ourselves." 

"What about your father?" 

"He stayed at Jim's last night," replied Dean as he headed to the kitchen, "I like to think that didn't have anything to do with avoiding us, but it probably did." 

Moving to the kitchen and starting up the coffee, Dean gestured for Cas to have a seat at the table and then proceeded to make them cinnamon toast. As he knocked about the kitchen, Dean couldn’t help but wish that they could just spend the day alone together.

The idea of simply crawling back in bed after their sexy shower was tantalizing. They could take a nice long nap and, upon waking, enjoy a slow and lazy screw. They’d be hungry after that, and watching a movie while they ate sounded nice. Maybe they’d lounge like that for a bit longer, just talking or listening to music. Then, as the sun was setting, an extra raunchy marathon of porn-style fucking would wear them out for night.

He could spend days and days in bed with Cas, he thought, just resting and touching and tasting and talking and, yes, spooning. Thinking of these things, Dean began to understand the concept of a honeymoon - it was meant to be a time for new lovers to just indulge in each other and let the rest of the world fall away. Sadly, that wasn't going to be the way of it for him and Cas. They had shit to do.  

 


	8. A Highway Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Destiella, it's over. I've been a very lucky girl to have you with me on this story. You've made a huge difference, and I hope you know that. I hope those who are reading know that. Thank you. A million times THANK YOU!

Breakfast was simple, something he’d often made for Sam when they young… cinnamon toast. It went well with the coffee and didn’t take too long to make or eat. Popping a couple Advil on his way out, Dean drove Cas over to the church. Once they arrived the two were quickly pulled apart as each tended to different things. That became the way of it as the days went by. Between Dean's shifts at the police station and the many things to be done at the church, the men didn't share much time. It was only at night that they'd finally come together. Steamy, passionate encounters wore them out and, in the quiet aftermath, they'd talk, wrapped up in each other’s arms until sleep took them.

Knowing that Cas had been on the road all his life, Dean felt compelled to cultivate a home for his friend. He'd already begun looking for a house they could move into, but in the meantime, he did all he could to make them both comfortable. Returning from an errand at the hardware store, Dean handed his man a variety of paint color cards and asked him to choose his favorite for their room. Then, on his next day off, Dean went to work painting over the dingy walls. Taking a bit of extra time to repair the cracks and holes before starting had proven to be a wise time investment, leaving Dean to feel proud of how the room looked despite its wear-worn carpet. The new bed that he bought took over a week to be delivered but once it was set up, he and Cas sprawled onto it happily, thrilled to be done sharing Dean’s old twin size mattress.

Next door to them, Sam was back in his old room. He, however, was far less inclined to paint or make any improvements. He was only here for a while, having taken a leave of absence from his firm back in California to help out with the carnival refugees. Dean enjoyed having his brother back, even if it was only temporary. John, however, didn't return to the house for any considerable length of time. When asked why he was staying at Jim's house instead of his own, John would always reply that Jim was helping him get sober.

On some level, Dean wondered if that was just an excuse to avoid sleeping under the same roof as Dean and his new gay lover. But honestly, Dean couldn’t deny that his father was making progress. So, he decided to just enjoy the peace while it lasted and not overanalyze John’s motivations.

Hael was often invited to join Dean and Cas at home, but always declined in favor of 'staying where she was most needed.' She was fascinating; strong in her own way, much like Cas, and striking to look at. The pretty girl turned heads everywhere she went and the more activities she joined in the community, the more suitors she seemed to attract. Cas was a big brother to her in every way that mattered and Dean teased him endlessly about the inordinate amount of time he spent chasing off enamored boys. Though she declined all invitations to take a room at home with Dean and Cas, she often joined them for dinner there.

Tonight, midway through the second week after liberation, was the third time Hael had come over for a supper. They’d been out running errands and had missed the serving line at the church. So, they’d come here, lured by Sam with promises that he’d do the cooking. Dean was generally sparing with his praise when it came to his brother’s meals, especially when the dishes were meatless or included ingredients that Dean dubbed as ‘fancy’. Things like goat cheese, bean sprouts, and avocado tended to turn up in his brother’s meals with startling frequency and Dean taunted his brother relentlessly for these loose connections to an ‘upper crust’ lifestyle. But tonight, the Alfredo lasagna Sammy had made was delicious, even with the strange vegetables that he’d chosen to include. Giving his little brother a nod of approval, Dean shoveled heaping bites into his mouth.

“I made sure to put some bacon in that for you,” winked Sam.

“Yeah, well, something had to cover the flavor of all these damn vegetables.”

Across from him, John snickered. Jim, however, gave Dean the stink eye for cursing. Seated next to Sammy, Hael asked him how the dish was made. He explained it to her in agonizing detail and while he did, Dean's mind began to wander. He was completely lost to the conversation for a while, but as the topic changed to other things, snippets of the discussion reached his ears.  

"... usually at least three per camper..."

“… not so much by gender or age, just wherever there was room…”

“…there was no point…”

Then, Dean’s attention snapped back as Castiel’s voice changed from a conversational tone to one of distress.

“...we wouldn't have risked it...” Cas was saying. Suddenly irritated with his own short attention span, Dean looked around the table, trying to guess the topic as it evolved around him. He was at a loss. All he knew was that Castiel was starting to look uncomfortable.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" said Hael pointedly, flashing a reassuring smile to her brother, "It's in the past."

Dean watched Cas nod firmly and as the rest of the table took the hint that a subject change was needed, Dean was able to work out that they'd been talking about life at Crowley’s carnival. More specifically, the living arrangements. 

John seemed intrigued to know more. Hell, they all were. Everyone was curious about what it had been like there. But, it was easy to see how hard it was for the refugees to discuss.

Shifting the attention to John, Jim spoke up to commend the man for his longest stint of sobriety to date, excluding his time in a locked ward at detox. “And this time,” added Jim, “you did it on your own.”

“I wasn’t on my own,” countered John humbly, but the words were lost among the voices of their group cheering the man’s accomplishment. As the talk around the table continued to follow John and Jim’s time together, the subject of Rowena came up. Dean stayed quiet, not wanting to upset Cas, but he was intrigued to hear that the men had been researching witches and witchcraft in their free time. They'd learned a lot, it would seem, in a short amount of time. Details of this newly acquired knowledge dominated the dinner conversation for the remainder of the meal.

When everyone was finished eating, John followed Jim's lead and stayed in the kitchen to help wash the dishes. Dean had trouble not staring as his father picked up a dishtowel. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen is father engaged in a domestic chore of any kind. Jim was working miracles.  

"So," said Dean as when he and Cas climbed into bed for the night, "I’m sorry if everybody was buggin’ you for details about the carnival life. I would’ve cut that off if I had noticed, but I guess my mind kinda wandered off for a while.”

“It’s no problem,” Cas answered as they threaded their legs together, “I understand everyone being curious. It’s just, one question always leads to another and the longer we talk, the harder it gets.”

“What were they askin’ you?”

“At first? Just general questions about how we lived. But when they found out that Hael and I weren’t living in the same camper, they wanted to know why. It’s not so bad to just talk about how things were, but talking about _why_ things happened seems to be much harder.”

“I get it,” Dean reassured, pecking his man on the forehead as they adjusted to share a pillow.

“I know people are curious,” replied Cas, “and everyone’s been so helpful that I want to give them answers. But in truth, you can probably answer their ‘why’ questions as well as I can. You know what Crowley was… how he did things.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Maybe you can answer some of those questions for us when we’re not around?”

“You want me to?”

“It would take some of the pressure off the others.”

“So, what were they asking you that you want to me to answer?”

“Well, maybe you can explain to your family why Hael and I would never have asked to share a camper when we started suspecting we were related.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You probably didn’t want to risk Crowley knowing that she was special to you, right? Otherwise he’d use it against you?”

“That’s right, Dean. If you could just explain those kind of things to the others for us, in a way that doesn’t invite more questions, that would be appreciated. By all of us.”

“Ok Cas, from now on I’ll try to do that.”

Remembering how easily Crowley seemed to sniff out his own fears and desires, Dean thought it must've been hell for those imprisoned at the carnival to keep their weaknesses hidden and safe from exploitation.

"But how?" he asked incredulously. "How did anyone ever keep anything secret from him? He had my number the minute I walked into his tent."

"Well, the trick seems to be thinking of other things. When in his presence, I would always focus on mundane details. I'd think about how much I was hoping we'd have hot dogs for dinner that night or how many more rounds I would be making before my break. Thinking about the guests was always an easy way to keep his attention away from me too. Whatever mark I was working, I'd think about the things they'd told me... picture their face in my mind... stuff like that. Sometimes I would just try to figure out how I'd failed with one. Those kind of thoughts never seemed to invite deeper probing from Crowley." 

"Could you tell when he was in your head?" 

"Not really. Not in a reliable way, no. But if he was looking at me, I'd always assume he was in my head. And then, sometimes, I'd get a feeling like I was being watched, even when I knew I was alone. I often wondered if that was him. To be on the safe side, I'd always be careful at times like those. But honestly, I was almost always on guard." 

"What about guys? Did you ever have someone, or was that just too risky?"

"I had you," answered Cas, breaking Dean's heart a little. "It was just as difficult to hide my thoughts of you as it would have been to keep an actual relationship secret. But I didn't even want him to know that I preferred men." 

"Were you were afraid he'd make you work the men's tent if he knew?" 

"No. If he had something to gain by selling me in the tents, he'd have done it whether I was gay or not. But if he knew, he'd play it up like I enjoyed the stuff they were doing to me even when I didn't. I watched him do that to others and it made me sick. Dean, I think the only thing worse than being whored out, would be having to hear Crowley say that it was a favor to me... that I'd wanted it, or needed it, or enjoyed it in some kinky way. No matter what, I never wanted to have to hear that." 

"Damn," whispered Dean, pulling Cas closer and kissing his forehead while pity filled his heart. He wanted to comfort his friend, but was at a loss for how to do it. 

"It's okay," reassured Cas. "Lucky for me, I was always pretty skilled at pulling in marks on the midway. I was more valuable bringing him souls than I would have been turning tricks for a few bills out back." 

"I can't imagine what it would be like to have to work in the sex tents every damn night; forever." 

"It's awful. One of the guys in my trailer was stuck working back there. He used to cry, sometimes for hours, afterwards. Some days he'd even cry before. He seemed to get used to it after a while. He would just joke that he couldn’t wait to get old enough that no one would want him anymore. Then he could just run a food truck and keep his asshole to himself." 

"Who was it?" he asked. "Who was your roommate?"

Dean's heart grew heavy and sank low in his chest as he waited to hear which young man Cas had been rooming with. It disgusted him to think that it may have been someone he’d unknowingly bought. He didn't want to hurt Cas with the knowledge that he'd been fucking others, and he certainly didn't like the idea that someone might have talked to Cas about the things Dean had done in the adults only section. 

"Danny," answered Cas. "You would have known him as Keith." 

Dean felt his heart clench at Cas's words. He must know that Dean had been to the tents... why else would he have bothered filling Dean in on the guy's false name? The air was growing thick between them in the bed as shame settled deeply into Dean's bones. The silence lingered on and became uncomfortable. He needed to say something, but nothing seemed appropriate. 

"It's alright Dean," whispered Cas, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

"What is?"  

"I don't mind that you were there. You didn't understand... you didn't know that those who worked the tents weren’t doing it by choice." 

"If I'm honest," Dean said, deciding to come clean, "I think I knew in a way. I mean, anyone who's selling themselves is probably desperate in some way, so on some level I must've known that I was taking advantage. But I just wanted it so bad. I mean, I'd never been with a man except that one time with you. And if I couldn't have you, then I just wanted someone. Anyone. That's how it started anyway. I've got no excuses for going back." 

"I understand." 

"I should have just waited for you. Now that we're together, I feel pretty shitty about it." 

"Don't. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You never promised me fidelity Dean." 

"I promised you something though," he said tentatively, "and that's a promise I've kept. For years and years." 

"Really Dean?" 

"Oh yeah," he said, curling into his man and enjoying the feel of Castiel's arms tightening around him in response. "I told you that I'd never let anyone else inside me and I haven't."

"Dean, I don't know what to say." 

"Nothin' to say, man," answered Dean, grasping Castiel's hand and pulling it down to rest on his rear. "I just wanted you to know that this is yours. No one's ever had it but you. No one ever will." 

"Can I have it now?" teased Cas gently, squeezing Dean's cheek firmly.

Happy to let Cas break the heavy mood, Dean turned within the circle of his lover’s arms and put his back to Cas's chest. "It's yours, Cas. Have it whenever you want it." 

Dean shivered as Cas whispered his name in his ear, voice deep and husky. He pressed his bottom backwards into his man, begging with touch. Behind him Cas was growing hard and pressing himself against the swell of Dean's ass. Grinning, he wiggled a bit to get his man's package positioned between his cheeks and whispered a dirty invitation.  

 

 

There was some giggling as Cas toyed with Dean, the mood turning playful. The two tickled and teased and tussled, twisting each other into a variety of positions as they prepared to fuck. Each laughed heartily as they whispered dirty things to one another. Then, with Dean subdued and sprawled beneath him, Cas pushed cool, slick fingers into him. It was lighthearted and fun, even as Cas fingered him open. But then, when Cas spread his weight over Dean's back and pushed inside, both men grew quiet and reverent. They made love in slow, deep thrusts that satisfied an ache and a longing deep inside both of them.

Dean lay there underneath his lover, his belly and cock pressed heavily into the mattress, throbbing between his legs as Cas rolled his hips smoothly down into him, sucking the back of Dean's neck the entire time. He'd never felt so possessed in his life… so completely and fully owned by another person. It lasted a long time, and when they came, Cas held Dean tightly.

In the quiet aftermath, he eventually slid off to one side, trailing kisses along Dean's shoulder as he pulled him into the 'little spoon' position. While he nodded slowly off to sleep, cradled in his lover’s arms, Dean said a silent prayer of thanks. He had a lot to be grateful for.

As always, daylight intruded too soon. The real world was back again and it was relentlessly demanding of their time. The days were a flurry of activity as volunteers worked around the clock to care for the refugees and get these newly freed souls transitioned into a normal life. The task was daunting enough on its own. But, with the added complication of having to keep so much information secret from the general public, Dean found his patience tested to the limits.

The rescued souls from Crowley’s carnival wound up sheltering in the church basement for over two weeks. Jim was handling most of the day-to-day operations. He coordinated volunteers to fill needs as they arose and he saw to the details of keeping everyone clean and fed. Always at his side was John Winchester. John was purpose-driven these days in a way Dean had never seen. He and his brother would often exchange hopeful glances as they noted his behavior. Neither of them said anything out loud though, an unspoken agreement not to jinx it.

If Cas had a designated role in the rescue effort, it seemed to be that of a liaison. He spent a lot of time explaining the goals and methods of the volunteers to the newly freed slaves and vice versa. The refugees varied in age, maturity level, and comprehension, but all of them were survivors of a horrific captivity and, as such, they were anxious, fearful, confused, and frustrated. Hael was ever her brother’s companion as he worked and that put her in close proximity to Sam. His brother may have laughed off Dean’s snide remarks about the chemistry between them, but it was easy to see a connection forming between the two.

Sam, given his profession, was in charge of the legalities. He immediately set up a trust fund and began funneling donations to it. The arrangements had been made through Sam’s law firm which was matching all donations dollar-for-dollar.  Or at least, that’s what they were telling the community. But, Dean had a hunch that Sam was just saying that to avoid questions about why he was contributing so much of his own money to the cause. Poor Sam was also saddled with figuring out how to get all these refugees transitioned into society. They all needed a photo ID, transportation, a place to live, and a job.

The oldest among those rescued from Mr. Crowley’s carnival was over fifty. His name was Frank. The man didn't speak much and trusted absolutely no one. Dean had his doubts that Frank would ever really recover or even become self-sufficient. He felt similarly about 'Mostly OK Martin'. Dean had remembered him immediately as the carny he'd ripped off at the ticketing booth on the night he'd first met Cas. The man was squirrely but quite entertaining. Oddly enough, he was a favorite among the younger kids. He kept them occupied with intricate and rambling stories for hours on end.

The youngest to be saved was a tiny infant, so new to this world that she was still pink. She was a favorite among the volunteers who gleefully took turns rocking and feeding her and joking about ‘new baby smell’ as they nuzzled her head. She was, coincidently, a favorite of Dean’s as well. The little bundle slept most of the time anyway, and when she was awake she stared up trustingly from his arms with innocent, imploring eyes. Sometimes her tiny hand would clamp onto his pinky as he fed her and allude to a deeper strength and tenacity that he both liked and respected. Dean just had a feeling that she would be fierce one day. And, bonus, when his feet were tired he could just kick back and rock the baby without feeling guilty for not doing his share of the heavy lifting.  

But, of all the survivors, Dean's absolute favorite was Hael. She reminded him so much of Castiel, both in appearance and demeanor. It was heart-warming to watch the two together. After a lifetime of forced, fearful separation and cautious distance, the two were like little kids with their first best-friend. They tended to share tasks and do things as a team. When Dean would drop Cas off at the church on his way to work, he always took a minute to come inside, and it wasn’t for the sake of doing the designated chore of the moment. It was so he could watch the brother and sister light up as they hugged good morning. Seeing Cas so happy was the cherry on his metaphorical sundae as Dean got used to this new life they were all building together.

Life was busy and stressful, but eventually things began to fall into a routine. Dean and Cas woke early most days, often still tired from the day before. Exhaustion didn't matter to Dean, though. He loved waking up with Cas in his bed. It was so nice to stretch and feel the fullness between his legs when he wasn't alone between the sheets. Rolling over and letting his cock flop heavily on Castiel's side always made Dean chuckle for some strange reason. The gentle laughter from Cas as he responded never failed to infuse the morning with cheerfulness and a bright outlook towards the coming day.

Whether Cas teased gently with his fingers before clamping down to stroke him, ducked beneath the covers to suck him to life, pulled their cocks together for a shared release, or humped with him until they came, Dean always wound up with a smile on his face.

No longer did he wake to face a day's drudgery as he had in the past. No. These days he opened his eyes with a sense of purpose rooted in doing work he truly cared about, and the aura of joy that comes with being deeply in love. For the first time ever, Dean was  _living_  his life instead of just _surviving_ it. 

His days at the police department were the same as they’d always been, with one glaring exception. Everyone now knew that he was gay.

Pam no longer flirted with him, but she still stopped by his desk often to chat. Her gentle teasing now alluded to different kinds of dirty things then it had in the past, and Dean ate it up.

Benny, always chuckling over innuendo, was as much his friend as he'd ever been. Dean had always known he would be. Of course, there were a few assholes who could be counted to play the role of 'turd in the punch bowl', but he accepted the trouble these folks caused as the small price paid to stop living a lie.  

At the end of each shift, Dean would swing by the church again. Generally, the evening meal would be underway when Dean entered and he’d jump in to help, waiting until the survivors had all been fed before making a plate for himself and sitting down to eat with Cas. Then, after eating, the volunteers would migrate upstairs.

Depending on their number each night, they'd either file into the conference room for a meeting or they’d settle into the more comfortable chairs in Jim's office. Regardless, brainstorming would commence. The latest problems would be discussed and solutions to those problems would be hammered out. This particular night, it was just Dean, Cas, Jim, and Sam. So, they were seated comfortably in the Pastor’s office as they talked.  

Before anyone could ask where John was, Jim mentioned that the man had gone to the store to pick up a few things.  

"Giving him the long leash tonight?" joked Sam. 

Jim gave the younger Winchester a disapproving look before encouraging him to have faith. "And yes," he added with a grin, "it was time to give him some space. If we never give him any trust, then how will he become trustworthy, right Sam?" 

Dean nodded along, smiling softly at Jim’s ability to do what Dean had never been able to… keep Sammy of John’s back.

“You think he’ll ever come home?” Dean asked.

"We'll just have to see," said Jim sagely. "He and I have been talking a lot about what kind of life John wants to live. He's out of work at the present time and that's a good time for change if it's needed."

"What kind of change are we talkin' about?" pressed Dean. 

"The kind that lasts," he answered firmly. 

"Well then," injected Sam, "let's get to the issue at hand." With everyone's attention fixed on him, Sam launched into updates on several of the key issues he'd been working on. "I think," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "that I've got the Bluebird hotel talked down to a rate we can afford." 

"I shudder to ask what this will cost," chuckled Jim. 

"We've got 48 survivors," said Sam with a serious face, "if we put two each in a room like we talked about, then we need 24 rooms. The bluebird has 30. I'd like to rent the place out, indefinitely. The other six rooms will be useful. We'll just clear the beds out and set up folding tables and chairs. I'm sure the church can spare them?" 

Dean glanced over at Jim to see him nodding agreement.

"We can keep one room as an office and conference room," continued Sam, "and we can set up classrooms in the others and divide everyone up by ages. It'll be a tight fit, but it's only temporary. We'll have one room for the kids who are elementary age and we can focus on preparing them to enter regular school. We don't necessarily need to work on a lot of educational stuff... there's tutoring and remedial programs available at the school to help catch them up. What we need to focus on are the social aspects... how these kids interact with other kids is key. We need to get them used to mixing in with the mainstream kids so they won’t wind up as outcasts. The social norms vary a lot by age group, so we'll want to have a separate room for the junior-high and high-school kids too." 

"That all sounds perfect Sam," praised Jim. "Do you plan to use one of the rooms as a nursery for the babies and toddlers then?" 

"No," Sam answered softly, "I plan to get them into homes." 

"I realize that, but you’ve said yourself that the adoption process is sticky and slow even in the best of cases." 

"It is," nodded Sam, "But I'm working on something to make it quicker." 

"Nothing illegal, I hope," cautioned Jim. 

Dean watched a slow and teasing smile spread over his brother’s face. "Have faith," Sam urged his pastor jokingly. Dean couldn't help but chuckle.  

When they finally adjourned for the night, there was a tentative plan for moving the refugees to more suitable living quarters.

Dean and Cas returned to the house and settled in the living room to watch television with Sam for a while. It was becoming their nightly ritual; just unwinding together for a bit before parting for bed.

Initially, they’d been checking the news to see if there was any coverage about the carnival. But after a few nights, they’d realized that there would be none. They’d probably never know what kind of magic Rowena had used, but somehow the carnival was gone. Dean had seen it with his own eyes from the front seat of his patrol car. Too scared to return to the grounds, but too curious not to look, Dean had driven to an adjacent hilltop while on patrol to get a look at the meadow where Mr. Crowley’s Mystical Menagerie had been camped. Nothing was left, the field barren and empty.

So, with Rowena and the carnival a distant memory, the three enjoyed a re-run of Friends instead of the news. Well, it was a re-run for Dean. To Cas it was exciting and new. But, by the end of the show, his friend was giving him that ‘take me to bed’ look. Bidding Sam goodnight, Dean pulled Cas up from the couch and the men headed for their room. 

As was becoming their routine, they took turns in the bathroom as they puttered about getting ready for bed. Then, as Dean was turning out the light in the hall, he noticed the flickering light of the television which was still on in the living room. Sammy. It was good to have his brother back, even if it was just for a little while.  

Turning, Dean walked into his room and closed the door. He tugged off his boxers and climbed into bed next to Cas. It would seem that this was also becoming part of their nightly routine - this quiet embrace that they rested in for a few moments before one of them would start to get horny.

Sometimes it was the scent of Cas's skin, or the tickle his leg hair, or even just the sound of his breathing that got Dean thinking of dirty things. Other times, it was the memory of things they'd promised to do to each other later when there was more time. In this instance, it was the gentle stroking of Castiel's hand on Dean's hip. 

He wished that Cas would clamp that hand down and forcefully flip him over. Claim what was his. In order to get what he wanted without having to ask, Dean sighed and stretched. Doing so arched his back and pushed his buttocks back into his man. He grinned to himself as his little trick worked like a charm, enticing Cas to roll his hips forward in response. It was surprising to Dean how much he liked being fucked. His ass still being tender or even mildly sore from the night before didn't seem to matter in the least. He still wanted it. Bad. 

Cas seemed to know what he was thinking too, playing along as Dean teased him with silent promises. When Cas ground himself into Dean’s backside again, he was hard. The feel of Cas’ shaft pressing against his naked flesh was scintillating and heat flooded Dean's groin in response. He turned himself prone on the bed, pulling his knees up under himself just enough to push his ass in the air a bit. It was bare, his ass, and it was making an offer. Snickering at the dirty-good fun of their little game, Cas tugged the sheet down to expose Dean's cheeks to the cool air of the room - and Castiel's lustful gaze. 

Underneath Dean's body there was a small empty space where his pelvis should have been resting on the bed. But, with his rear preening in the air, the space beneath him left room for his hand. Reaching into that space, Dean cupped himself and let out a groan, mostly just to tease Cas into urgency. 

It worked like a charm. Surging up from the mattress, Cas climbed up behind Dean and shoved his legs apart, positioning himself to enter. With his legs spread like this, Dean knew Cas could probably see his hole and the wanton feel of being so exposed made Dean's stomach curl with anticipation.

Hot breath tickled over Dean's lower back as his lover crouched over him expectantly. The sound of his man stroking his own cock sent a shiver up Dean's spine and he turned to look over his shoulder. Cas was a sight. In the soft indigo moonlight that flooded their room, Dean could see the fierce line of Castiel's brow, arched wickedly as he readied himself to push himself into Dean.

Turning his head towards the nightstand, Dean reached for the lube and tossed it over his shoulder. Cas, reaching for the little bottle, leaned in on Dean. Suddenly, he could feel the bump of a hard cock against his ass and then the weight of it as it laid on him for a moment. When Cas sat back, a cool trail of slippery juice was left behind on Dean’s overheating skin.

Castiel entered him slowly and used more lube than strictly necessary, probably aware that Dean was still feeling the last pounding he'd taken. The prep didn't take long, Dean's body remembering how to give itself over. He enjoyed it though, wriggling on the bed as Cas explored his inner linings with groping fingers, finding the good spot and waking it up. Soon enough, Dean was moaning on those fingers and begging for Cas to enter him.

He wasn’t kept waiting either, strong hands at his hips guiding him back until he was at just the right height. Then, it was happening. Cas was pushing forward to bury himself in one sinfully long slide. As his lover bottomed out, Dean was pressed forward and the motion caused his own swollen member, currently hanging heavily beneath his body, to skim over the sheet. Like a match drawn over the striking strip of a matchbook, Dean's tip gathered heat behind it as it was dragged along the wash-worn cotton.

Soon, Cas was thrusting. Dean found himself rocking along with the motion, his weighty cock swinging heavily beneath him like a pendulum and still rubbing back and forth on the fabric as he was fucked. The combined stimulation had him moaning deeply and repeatedly, orgasm building far too fast.  

Their breathing had grown heavy and Cas was grunting as his measured movements slipped into frenzied ones. Licking his lips, Dean tasted the sweat that was forming on his face. He could feel it in the small of his back too – and his leg muscles were screaming in protest as he continued to push his ass up into Castiel with each thrust. As the sound of their sweaty skin slapping together became more audible, Dean heard Cas whispering apologies into the thick air between them.   

"Huh?" he responded, unsure of what Cas might have to be sorry for at this moment. 

"I said," husked Cas, bringing lips right up to his ear, "I'm sorry to be so greedy. I just can't help myself." 

"Don't.... care..." he panted, taking the brutal thrusts like a champ. 

"Can't... help it..." breathed Cas again.

"Good," he barked back, "cause I fuckin’ love it."

As Dean said those words, Cas’s body locked. Dean stilled, knowing his partner was coming. He waited patiently as Cas exploded inside of him, rolling his hips as much as he could to accentuate the feeling for his man. A moment later, Cas went limp. Dean rolled over, rearranging his legs until he and Cas were side by side in bed. As cum leaked out of him onto the sheets, Dean caught his breath and chuckled.

“What?” husked Cas, still winded.

“I’m leaking,” he answered, wriggling his hips as more and more slid out of him.

"I don't see why that’s funny," huffed Cas.

"Well," he teased back playfully, "I'm on your side of the bed."

"Serves me right for being so greedy," growled Cas acerbically.

"You're not being greedy," Dean told him firmly, "I want it as much as you do." 

"Doubtful," chuckled Cas, kissing Dean's sternum and then sliding his wet tongue all the way down. "I can't seem to get enough," he admitted as he sank down and took Dean's erection into his mouth. 

Dean sighed, feeling the last of his body's tension fade out as Cas set to work on him. "Me neither," he admitted as Cas bobbed on him a few times and began tonguing along the base of him. That sinful tongue slid lower too, pushing his balls aside as it passed between them and dipped down lower to tease behind his sack.  

Spreading his legs to allow better access, not caring about the mess Cas had left between his legs, Dean took his own wet cock in his hand and began stroking as Cas licked lower and lower, flicking at the bud of his entrance but not really focusing his efforts there.

It felt amazing to be explored like this, Castiel gripping his cheeks and pulling them apart, blowing cool air on his hole only to follow it up with a warm, wet tongue and tentative nibbles to the soft skin around it. The fact that the man was licking where he'd just cum didn't seem like it should be sexy... but it was… and Dean’s body was begging for more. Even with his legs spread wide, he managed to thrust upwards and show Cas that he still wanted more.

Castiel had a wide tongue and when he finally plunged in, he spread Dean back open to the width of two fingers. It was quite satisfying. He jacked himself for a while, enjoying the build as Cas enthusiastically tongue fucked. Then, probably growing tired, he pulled back and pushed in fingers instead.

Dean was sore. Noticeably so. But still, he didn't care. He loved it. The soreness, if anything, was just a reminder of having been taken, of being given what he wanted. And, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself for being able to take a pounding like he could. It made him feel like a man. He smiled with pride as he thought of how he'd taken it, bent in half under the weight and still holding his frame up under the punishing thrusts. 

Now, on his back, with the entire scene fresh in his mind, Dean was groaning in pleasure as he pushed himself down on his lover’s fingers. As he did, Cas was licking his balls. Dean took his hand off his cock, surrendering control of it to his man and tucking his hands behind his head to relax as he was worked over.

Cas didn't slide his fingers in and out, but he wasn't still. He milked Dean from the inside, stroking that place at his core – the place that rumbled to life like an old Chevy. From deep within, that rumble evolved into a purr and created a warm buzzing in the lower half of his body. While Cas suckled his cock, Dean's groin was warming, orgasm teasing at him, promising him that it was close.

"Cas," he moaned softly. 

His lover responded, but it was no more than a garble, the sounds lost as Cas took a tall, stiff cock deep into the back of his throat. Pulling his head up from the pillow, Dean looked down his belly to watch. Cas looking up at him, tears matting his eyelashes as he fought his own gag reflex. But, he never relented, not even for a second… not even when Dean lost control, threw his head back, clamped his hands down, and came hard down the back of Cas' throat.  

When it was over, they both slumped down on the bed. Divine exhaustion. Cas curled up there, his stubbly cheek resting on Dean's abdomen. Dean expected the man to either crawl up and kiss him, or turn them on their sides to cuddle.

Cas did neither. He kissed Dean's shrinking member, licked it softly a few times and then took it back into his mouth. Curling his body around Dean's, Cas hummed contentedly as he rolled Dean's softened and empty cock around in his mouth.  

Floating on a cloud of afterglow, Dean almost fell asleep with Cas nuzzling his junk. But, he was growing chilly in the room, naked skin exposed to the air. The only warmth was where Cas was draped over him, still resting his head at Dean's midsection, rather than coming to sleep on his pillow. 

"It's odd," ventured Cas, breaking the comfortable silence. "I don't really understand why, but I'm very drawn to your cock." 

Dean chuckled hearing this and cupped his palm around the back of Cas' neck affectionately. The man didn't move, he just laid there nestled into Dean's groin as he spoke. 

"You know Dean, when I was with the carnival, I thought about you often. When I was falling asleep, I could always see your face in the dark; your eyes and your smile. I loved you so much. I dreamed of spending time with you, of hearing you laugh, of listening to your voice as you talked to me about your life. I wanted to know you and hold you and have you with me in my bed. I wanted you to hold me as I slept. I hardly ever thought about you in a sexual way. I just wanted you, not your body. 

"That's why it's so strange to me... this fascination with sex that I seem to have now," confessed Castiel. "I think about you all the time these days, and my thoughts are quite impure. I want your cock, Dean, every minute of the day. I can never seem to get enough. I want to fuck you until I'm too weak to go on. And then, when I'm worn out, I want to just drop to the ground and let you fuck me. My mouth waters sometimes, in the middle of the day, if I think about sucking your dick. I want you every way I can have you - between my legs, in my mouth, down my throat. I could drink you, Dean. I'm just... 

"Yeah?" prodded Dean, grinning in the dark as he soaked up Cas' filthy confession. 

"I'm just, well, I'm hungry for you Dean. I'm just _hungry_  for you. _All the time_.”

Dean was grinning widely when he said, “Cas, that’s the damn sexiest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

“I don’t understand though,” replied Cas, sounding bewildered “I just wanted to love you. I don't know where all this lust is coming from."  

“Your cock,” joked Dean.

"I wish I knew why I felt like this," lamented Cas. "I'm so greedy for you that sometimes I feel guilty about it around Pastor Jim. I feel like he knows, and I don't want to be shameful. I do love you, Dean, I do. But I  _want_  you too. So much." 

"Yeah, well that goes for me too Cas. I don't think what you're feeling is abnormal. I feel it too. I mean, we're human. Humans are lustful." 

"How many lovers have you had?" 

"Um, what counts as a lover?" he hedged. 

"I'm not sure, I guess. Someone you had sex with, I suppose. Why? Have there been a lot?" 

"More than I care to admit," he answered, doubting he could even count the number if he tried. 

"Oh," said Cas, hurt coming through in his voice. 

"What can I say?" huffed Dean, "I've got no excuses, man. When I wanted to get off, there was almost always someone nearby, lookin’ at me like they'd be happy to help. I guess maybe it was just too easy." 

"How many of them did you share your room with?" 

"Oh," said Dean, catching on to the underlying meaning behind Castiel's words. "You weren't asking me how many people I've fucked, you were asking me how many relationships I've had." 

"Yes," confirmed Cas, "How many were there like me?" 

"There's nobody like you." 

"Really?" Cas looked adorable, lifting his head to look up at Dean for the first time.  

"Yeah Cas, you're the only person I've ever had a relationship with. I mean, I got laid a lot. But there's only ever been one person in my bed and it's you. You're the only one I've ever brought into my house... my room. You're the only one who ever really knew me."

"You're the only one I've ever had at all," reminded Cas, head dropping back down to Dean's stomach. 

"Well, that's probably why," laughed Dean, patting Cas on the shoulder. "No wonder you're so fuckin' horny all the time. You've opened the floodgates and now you're feelin' what the rest of us have been feelin' since we were ten." 

"This is normal?" 

"Fuck yes, it's normal," he reassured, hoisting the man up away from his dick so he could kiss him. As they broke apart, Dean turned his body to settle Cas in next to him. "You said you always had to control your thoughts or Crowley would know your weaknesses," reminded Dean as he pulled the covers up to their necks. "I bet you were so focused on keeping your desires a secret that you just buried 'em way deep down. Now that you're free, you don't have to hide anymore and your body knows it. Your dick's just makin' up for lost time." 

"That seems logical." 

"So, you never even beat off or anything?" 

"I shared a travel trailer with three other boys. Sometimes I would hear one of them in the night. I knew what they were doing. When that happened, it was almost impossible not to do the same. I'd sneak it under the covers just like they were and try to do it quietly so no one would know. But they knew. Just like I knew they were doing it, they knew I was doing it. No one ever actually said anything about it, but we all knew." 

"I'm glad you don't have to hide anymore, Cas." 

"Me too," whispered Cas, kissing Dean's cheek sweetly. "Good night."

"G’night, Cas."   

 

 

The next morning as he and Cas were pouring milk on their cereal, Sam came in. He gave Dean a sheepish smile as he snaked a bagel from the open bag on the counter and then dashed out the door without so much as a word. He and Cas exchanged a questioning look, shrugged, and finished eating. 

Dean had been looking at houses for rent in town and hoped to find one for himself and Cas while his brother was still around to help them move into it. But, with so much going on, there hadn't been time for much house hunting. So, as of now, they weren't even packing. But, when his mind was idle, Dean was sifting through the contents of the house, mentally deciding what to keep and what to get rid of.

That's what he was thinking about as he worked that day. Having no shift at the station, he’d accompanied Cas to the church to help out. Their big task was to get everything packed up for the big move. Sam was helping too, but he kept having to stop and take phone calls.

As he listened to his brother’s end of the conversations, Dean realized that the issue of the day was food. Once the refugees had been relocated, they’d be losing the convenience of having an industrial kitchen at their disposal. The Bluebird motel was adjacent to the Bluebird diner and Dean had assumed that would be where meals would be served But, the owners seemed to be telling Sam that even if the new residents handled their own breakfasts individually in their rooms, two meals a day for such a large number of people was a stretch for the restaurant. Another concern that Sam had to assuage was the idea that the diner’s regular clientele would be pushed out, and then once the refugees moved on, their regulars would've all gotten used to eating elsewhere and not come back. As Dean and Cas worked silently at filling boxes, he was listening to Sam pitch his various solutions to the harried voice on the other end of the line.

He and Cas spent some time with each survivor, helping them pack and answering their questions. Once Hael had finished packing up her own area, she joined them. The refugees ranged in age and maturity level, but all were exhibiting at least some signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. That meant they were fragile and uncertain, each different in their needs and fears. None had ever had a life beyond that of the carnival and were thus unable to visualize the process of assimilating into society. With the patience of a divine being, Castiel moved through the group with Hael. The two allayed fears and worked to empower the people to face the process of uprooting. Again.

Volunteers had signed up to be part of the move and had been arriving for the last hour. It was a coordinated effort, but once they got started, the actual loading didn’t take long. Divided into groups of two and three, the refugees climbed into their assigned cars and were driven over to their new home by members of the church. The unloading, thankfully, was quite smooth. Shortly after arriving at the Bluebird, all three trucks were empty.

Before leaving, the driver of each car went to the room of those they’d chauffeured and checked to see if their items were all accounted for and if they needed anything. Then, with the work done and thanks accepted, the cars began rolling back out of the lot. Jim and John were tasked with returning all the moving vans and Sam headed to the motel office. He had to sit down with the owners and go over the details of the meal plans they’d finally settled on.

At first, Cas and Hael had wanted to get around to all the rooms and double check that everyone was okay. But, after just a few stops, both deemed it unnecessary to knock on anymore doors. People were happy; excited, even. Sam never came home that night, and when he and Cas saw him at breakfast the following day, he looked awful. Clearly, he’d been up all night with something.

Breakfast, the first meal at the motel, went over well. Dean congratulated Sam on the smooth transition and came me to find out that Sam had negotiated meals for the refugees at off hours. They’d be having lunch between two and four and dinner between seven and nine. The meals wouldn’t be ‘off the menu’ at regular price, either. The volunteers would come in as they always had and prepare meals, paying a fee to the diner for the use of the kitchen and being responsible for their own cleanup.

Even more impressive was the plan to rotate each survivor through the kitchen. They’d help with meal prep and also be taught the basics of how to cook for themselves. It was brilliant. Dean had never been prouder of his little brother than he was in this moment.

Sadly, it was only a few weeks later that he got the first indication that Sammy was gearing up to leave town. Dean had come to the hotel after work, as he always did. He always made it in time to help with the evening meal now that it was being served later, and very much enjoyed teaching the basics of cooking. Especially to ‘Mostly Okay Martin’.

After the meal, any volunteers present still convened to the conference room. They still discussed the current issues and worked to find solutions, but now they did it in a converted motel room rather than in the church’s facilities. Tonight, as they gathered around a folding table, Sam’s eyes danced with unfettered joy.

"If there was a time to celebrate," he told them, "it's now." 

"What're we celebrating?" Dean asked him.

Sam's smile was radiant. "All six babies," he said pulling Cas to his feet and hugging him, "All six. They now have official birth certificates and hospital records." 

"That's great Sammy!" bellowed Dean, slapping his baby brother on the back. "I can't imagine that was easy." 

"It wasn't," he conceded. "It wasn't easy, or legal, or cheap. But it was necessary. Now they can all be adopted through reputable channels.”

It was already late, but instead of going home, they went out to celebrate. Cas wanted to bring Hael along, which ended up being a good idea. It gave them an even number for pool, which they played all night without keeping score. Dean was riding a high and so was everyone else. That, plus a few drinks, had them talking too loud and laughing too long. And it only got worse when Benny came in from his shift and insisted on buying another round for them in honor of Dean finally coming out of hiding.  

While Sam pulled Hael away under the premise of teaching her to play darts, Dean and Cas filled Benny in on the situation with the ex-carny's. Well, they told him the 'official version' of things anyway, dotted with colorful personal stories that had resonated with them in some way. He seemed to want to help and said he'd talk to the girls at the station about doing a fundraiser of some sort.

Dean also thought Benny seemed to be giving Cas the third degree. So, when his lover got up to use the facilities, he said, "Ben, man, whatcha doin' to my man? Tryin' to scare him off?" 

"Gotta make sure he's good enough for ya," grinned Benny. "I mean, he's livin' at your place. He's got you bustin' your balls for his peeps. I gotta ask... is it that serious already?"

"I guess so," he nodded," glancing toward the restrooms to see if Cas was returning. 

"You sure 'bout this brotha?" questioned Benny, "You gonna just kick it on in with the first man you find after comin' out?" 

"He's not the first man," chuckled Dean as he met his friend’s eye, "He's _the_  man. I ain’t shoppin’ around Ben. He's the one." 

"Well alright then," Benny grinned, holding up his mug, "here's to your man."

They clunked their drinks in a sloppy 'cheers' and put down three more rounds before Dean found himself alone at the table with Sam. Benny had sidled up to the bar and was chatting with Ash, their favorite bartender, who was washing beer mugs while they talked. Cas had been enticed to the dartboard by Hael who seemed to be testing out her newly acquired skills on her brother.

Nursing their drinks slowly, he and Sammy carried on a lazy and rambling conversation while they watched the two siblings laughing and taking turns, both playing a lousy game but enjoying it nonetheless.  

“I’m proud of ya Sammy,” he said firmly, not able to look at his brother as he said it.

“For?”

“Well, for all of it I guess. What you’ve done for these people… it’s just… it’s above and beyond man. But the babies… that’s really something.”

“Well, the oldest of them is only twenty-four months. They’re not going to remember it Dean. They have a real shot of just growing up normal. Their biggest drama will probably be finding out that they were adopted. I mean, the rest of these kids are going to remember fear and black eyes for the rest of their lives. There’s nothing we can do about it besides just try to help them move past it. But with the babies, though, there’s hope of a better life… a life where demons are just characters in horror movies.”

"What's up with you and Hael," Dean asked offhandedly. Mostly he was trying to lighten the mood since this was meant to be a celebration. But, he was also wondering if his brother would come clean. It was obvious that Sam had an interest in the girl, but he likely didn't realize how poorly he was hiding it.  

"Nothing," Sam replied, not looking at Dean. "She's sweet. But she's shell shocked. Even if there was something there, which I'm not saying there is, it wouldn't be very responsible of me to act on it."

"Oh Sammy," teased Dean, "be careful there. I mean, it sounds like you're sayin' it's unethical to get it on with one of the survivors. Since I'm currently shackin' up with one, I'd be inclined to take offense to that." 

"Like that’s even the same thing," chuckled Sam, "We met Cas before we even hit puberty. You guys have a long history. It hardly compares." Dean nodded and Sam continued by adding, "Let's not forget that I just sent the love of my life to hell a few weeks ago. I'm a little shell shocked too." 

Their table had a good view to the dartboard where Cas and Hael were trading losses, far too drunk to be throwing sharp objects. Both he and Sam were watching them play as Dean said, "But you like her, yeah?"

"Yeah. She's got something... I can't put my finger on what it is... but she's special," admitted Sam, slowly sipping his drink. 

"It's the eyes," supplied Dean with a wink. 

"You and Cas seem happy," observed Sam, easily changing the subject from himself to Dean. 

"Shut up."

"I'm just sayin... 

"Yeah, yeah." 

"You guys are like honeymooners. It's sickening." 

"We're too tired to be honeymooners." 

"The fuck you are. My bedroom wall is thin, Dean." 

"Honeymooners get room service,” he retorted, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Don't call us that again unless you're bringing us champagne and strawberries." 

Sam burst out laughing and then tipped his head back to empty his glass.

“Or porn,” Dean added, thumping his brothers arm.

"You know, Dean," said Sam, clunking his empty on the table, "If you guys wanna blow town for a while when all this is over, I'd help with that." 

"Huh?" 

"Well, I know you can't go anywhere now, not with everything that's going on. But in a few months, when things calm down, you and Cas should totally take a trip somewhere." 

"Where the fuck are we gonna go Sammy, huh?" Dean was stunned to feel words evaporate from his mouth. He'd been ready to launch into something along the lines of, 'somebody's gotta stay here with dad'. But, for the first time in his life, Dean realized that his father really didn't need looking after. Neither did Sam... the guy was a grown-ass man now. Excuses died on his tongue and he found himself begrudgingly admitting that he  _was_  actually free to take a trip if he wanted.  

"Anywhere you want," Sam was saying, still answering the hypothetical question Dean had posed, "I owe you my life Dean, this one and the one after it. Anything you need, man, it's yours. A trip, a house, a new damn car, anything." 

"You're puttin’ all your scratch on these carnys," said Dean dismissively, "and I don't need a new car. But thanks for the offer." 

"Don't be an ass Dean," countered Sam, voice turning firm. "I'm trying to tell you to just make plans, okay? If you want to buy a house, then buy a house. If you want to take some time off and travel, then do it. Don't think about the money - just decide what you want to do and do it. I'll back you financially. I mean, you spent your entire life taking care of me. Let me reciprocate a little, okay?"

Dean sipped his drink as he tried to figure out what to say. That’s when he realized that Sam was getting ready to pull up the few roots he’d put down here. Just the fact that his mind was no longer focused on the problems of the present but looking ahead to see a light at the end of the tunnel. That was Sam beginning to plan a future away from their small Midwestern town. And, having glimpsed that light at the end of the tunnel, Sam as now pushing Dean towards it. Sam preparing to leave, and he wanted Dean prepared to accept whatever parting gift he bestowed as he left.

"Okay Sammy," he relented, smiling at his brother. “I’ll take your money if it’s that damn important to ya.”

Tossing his long hair out of his face, he replied tersely, "It's Sam." 

"Never goin' along with that. You're Sammy to me. Always will be." 

He and Cas did eventually make it home that night, and since Sam had escorted Hael back to the Bluebird, the place was dark and quiet when they came through the door. They stumbled down the hall stuffing their hands clumsily into each other’s pants. Staggering into their room, the two tumbled into bed and got busy. With no one in the next room this time, they didn't have to try and keep quiet. Giggling often as they teased one another, their playful games soon turned salacious and needy. With Cas on his stomach, legs spread wide, Dean crawled into position and lined himself up with the man's eagerly displayed entrance. With one hand he held his own engorged cock and with the other he used two fingers to spear and spread his man's heavily prepped entrance, pulling his fingers apart to widen it. The puckered hole stretched easily for him and he lowered his hips to sink inside. 

Pushing the heated crown of his dick into the darkness between his fingers, Dean entered slowly, thrilled at the keening sound that came from Castiel as his rim was stretched wider than ever before, pleats of skin pulled smooth around the girth of both fingers and swollen cock. The body that had previously been arched in anticipation, preening an ass upwards in lurid invitation, was now tense and taut. Sweat beaded in the dip at the small of Cas's back, which was bowed under Dean's weight. Groaning as he sank in, Dean let his fingers slip out and smiled as he watched the man beneath him relax minutely, still holding his frame in a welcoming position. Gently now, he rolled his hips into Cas's warmth and began rocking in a smooth and sensual motion. In response to whispered pleas from the man beneath him, Dean began thrusting with increasing intensity. Hot breaths grew shorter and came faster from both of them as the two built towards a climax and by the time Dean reached his peak, he was gripping the headboard for stability as he pounded into his partner from behind. Cas was loud and uninhibited as he called out breathlessly again and again, reminding Dean how much much he needed more while riding out ferocious thrusts. They'd never been so punishing with one another before. It was almost as though the ability to be loud had also endowed them both with a need to push themselves to new heights. 

Cas would be sore, Dean was sure of it, but he didn't hesitate to deliver what his man was urgently demanding. He'd never been one to hold back in the bedroom, and Cas was turning out to be more than his match in carnal appetite. When he came, he did so with passion and intent, emptying himself into Cas with everything he had. In the silence after, as they held each other close and traded lazy kisses, both heard the click of the front door and knew that Sam was home. Bidding one another goodnight, Dean smiled warmly as he curled into the warmth of Castiel's arms. It was bliss living like this... his brother home, his father on the mend, his lover by his side.

As Sam had predicted, life slowed down incrementally from then on. And, as Dean had known he would, Sam began preparing to depart. He began by taking trips back to the coast as needed, tending to other business as well as that of the refugees. He was using his law firm to oversee adoptions and heavy hitting fundraisers. And, if Dean knew his brother, it was a safe bet he was sniffing around the available case load, likely ready to get back to his chosen life…. a life he’d coveted badly enough to once sell his soul for it.

Sammy was also flying to other cities as needed, helping get the more hopeless cases accepted into half-way house programs for trauma survivors and other such endeavors. Each time he returned, he came bearing gifts... social security cards, photo IDs, and other much-needed documents that allowed the refugees to start working jobs; those that were ready anyway. A few were doing well, saving up their first few paychecks in the hopes of getting their own place. Dean had no idea what strings Sam was pulling for all the needed documents and he didn't ask. But gradually, Dean's brother began heading back to California more frequently and staying longer while he was there. The coast was calling him home.  

Thanks to the donated time of a few special people, the school age children were slowly integrated from play dates with the children of parishioners to public events within the community and then, eventually, to school.

Tutors who donated their time and attention helped many to move through the transition from basic learning in a modified hotel room to classroom learning with other kids.

Many of the kids who had been saved from the carnival wound up being adopted by older survivors. That wasn’t much of a surprise. Many of these folks had been watching out for the youngsters this entire time and they were bonded.

Very few of those who left the Bluebird actually stayed in town though. Some took jobs in the city and some headed off to places they'd always dreamed of going, promising to keep in touch and ask for help if they needed it. A few did stay local. Hael, for example, was still in her hotel room and her plan for the future was to enroll in college. Sam had set her to work studying for the high school equivalency exam, promising that if she could pass it, he'd make her a fake diploma and transcript so she could be accepted to a university. She worked diligently toward that goal. Dean and Cas made sure that she frequently joined them for dinner, and, after, they’d help her study. Sometimes they played cards or scrabble and when Sam was there, he joined them.  

John Winchester was often a dinner guest, but he never did return to claim his place in the master bedroom. He and Jim had been talking a lot about hitting the road full time. There was Rowena to track, and there were other evil things to be dealt with. The more the two investigated, the more evidence they found of supernatural influences hiding right in plain sight. And, having seen what they’d seen, it was easier to believe the strange stories that other institutions passed over or discredited.

Conference calls with Pastor Gideon, and other believers like him, eventually led to meetings in person as well as the sharing of information, books, weapons and other resources. With a small network of others to assist, Jim and John both began talking about a 'higher calling'. They wanted to fight evil, go where they were needed, perhaps joining Pastor Gideon who was already on the road.

As far as Dean was concerned, this 'higher calling' was just what John Winchester had needed to give his life purpose and provide him a reason to stay sober. In all his life, Dean had never seen John so focused. Clearly, whatever Pastor Jim was doing with him was working. 

Honestly, when Dean stopped to think about it, none of them were the same as they'd been before their first brush with a demon. Mr. Crowley's carnival had opened their eyes and fighting him had made them into different people. Each of them had been affected differently, but they were all affected.  

Now, sitting at the dinner table with his father, his brother, his lover, and his lover's sister, Dean found himself feeling content. Good food was piled on their plates and easy laughter filled their small and dated kitchen.  

"So, are you guys going to move into the master bedroom if dad hits the road with Jim?" prompted Sam. 

"I - I don't know," said Dean, looking over at Cas. 

Cas returned his probing stare and shrugged as if he didn't care, turning his attention back to the pot roast on his plate. Dean, seeing that Cas had no opinion, turned back to Sam and said, "Doubt it. We just got that new bed. Sucked ass tryin' to get that monstrosity thought the doorway. Why bother movin' it just to have a bit more square-footage, right?" 

"Seriously?" questioned Sam, "You guys are just gonna stay in that tiny room and leave my room and dads room empty?" 

"I guess," nodded Dean, realizing that Sam must be leaving soon if he was talking about his room standing empty. "I mean, I plan to get us a place, we just haven't really had the time to go house hunting yet." 

"So, you plan on staying in town then?" pressed Sam. Dean wondered why his brother seemed so invested in their plans. He was about to ask that question specifically when he saw his brother look over at Cas.  

"What would you like to do Cas? If you could do  _anything,_ " said Sam, "and live  _anywhere_ , where would you go and what would you do?" 

"I'm not sure Sam," answered Castiel contemplatively. Dean flicked his eyes back and forth between his brother and his lover as he waited for Cas to provide the thoughtful answer he seemed to be searching for. "I mean, Dean is here in this town and I want to be where he is. But this is really the only town I've ever seen so I guess, given the opportunity, I'd like to see more of what’s out there… maybe visit a few other places." 

Dean felt laughter rising up in his throat as he said, "Cas, you've been on the road all your life, what do you mean you've never seen any towns but this one?" 

"Well yes, Dean, I've been on the road for as long as I can remember, up until now. But all that I've seen has been through the window of an Air-stream motor home. It would be nice to explore a little, I think." 

"Explore - 

"Yes Dean," nodded Cas, "I think that would be nice." 

"How would you like to explore?' pressed Sam. "Would you want to drive around in a camper from place to place, or would you rather fly and stay in hotels?"

Dean found himself simply watching as Sam cracked Cas open like an egg. He was absolutely stunned by the answers his friend was giving. Intrigued, he leaned forward in his chair, fork suspended over his dinner plate as he hung on to every word. 

"Well, I wouldn't want to go unless Dean went too," answered Cas resolutely, "so I guess that means we'd have to drive the Impala. Dean doesn't like to go anywhere without his baby." 

That statement pulled a smile to Dean's lips and as he watched his brother chuckle, Dean finally put his fork to his lips. Taking a huge bite of potato, he smirked at Sam.  

"So... a road trip then," observed Sam with a smile.  

"Yes," said Cas, returning his attention to his food, "I guess so. What about you Dean?" Cas asked. It would seem that his friend thought this was some kind of fun game where they’d each take a turn telling their preference. The poor guy didn't even realize that the younger Winchester was hatching diabolical plans as he questioned them.  

"Road trip sounds good to me too," he answered, suddenly wondering why he'd been fighting Sam's attempts to cultivate their happiness. He could picture himself with Cas on the long trip he knew Sam would propose.

His mind lit up with imaginings of snapping pictures as they visited the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, Niagara Falls, and maybe the world’s largest ball of twine or something cheesy like that. Dean smiled as he thought of his wide-eyed friend exploring the world with naivety and excitement. It seemed a far better idea than leaving him to sit here in this boring town while Dean punched a clock at the police station every day. 

When Cas looked over at him, Dean winked. Then, glancing over at his brother, Dean found himself giving a nod of approval. Sam was smug for a while, and Dean let him enjoy it as he turned his attention to Hael and played the same probing game.

Dean listened as she mentioned several cities that she thought were her favorites from what she'd seen on television and then he watched his brother offer to take her for campus visits at her top three. She was practically glowing as they discussed the possibilities. John was uncharacteristically quiet as he watched, but Dean thought he looked quite content. Perhaps with his newfound sobriety, he enjoyed seeing his sons happy, even if it wasn't by his own hand.  

When Jim and John were getting ready to leave, Dean pulled his pastor aside and asked a question that had been niggling at him for quite some time.

“Padre, there’s somethin’ I gotta know. Me and Cas. How big a sin is it really? Are we headed to hell for this?”

Reaching out to rest his hand reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder, Jim said, "Dean,there's no sin greater than any other. Just as much damnation is allotted to a straight man who fantasizes about two women having sex, as there is for you when you have sex with a man. So don't feel like you are somehow more sinful or more unworthy than any of the rest of us. What's important to remember is that God loves you; more than you can imagine. Dean, the key to our salvation isn't complicated. We simply need to be aware of our sinful nature and heartily sorry that we've fallen short of what he wanted us to be when he made us." When Pastor Jim had finished speaking, Dean couldn't help but pull the man into a heartfelt hug. Then later, as he crawled into bed with Castiel, Dean found himself feeling utterly content.

It was late October before they finally set out, their belongings packed into a storage unit and a ‘for rent’ sign standing in the front yard of the house. The flurry of activity that had surrounded their final days in this town had culminated last night when his friends at work had thrown them a going away party.

Dean had already been buzzing pretty hard when Jody and Donna had roped him and Cas into their own version of 'pin the tail on the donkey'. It had been a crowd pleaser, that’s for sure. Donna had made a show of blindfolding them and spinning them around dramatically. Then, Jody had poured shots down their throats and handed them each a tack. They'd been told to put the tack into a huge map on the wall, marking their destination.

But Cas, already unsteady as it was, had missed the map completely and pushed his tack into the men's room door to the amusement of all. Dean had at least hit the map. But, the fact that he'd pinned his destination as the middle of the Pacific Ocean had been cause for raucous laughter from the spectators. Regardless of the heavy hangover, he did pack up the car as planned today. Putting their trash to the curb a few minutes ago had been his last act as a resident of this house.  

Now, with nothing left to bind them to this place at all, the men climbed into baby. Their bags were in the trunk and an ancient green cooler was perched in the backseat. The map was in the glove box and as they pulled out of the driveway, Dean handed Cas a coin. 

"What's this for?"

"When we get to the corner, you flip it. Head's we go left, tails we go right."

Cas's smile was breathtaking. 

"When will the trip be over?" he asked, rolling the coin between his fingers.

"When we've found a place that makes us want to stay, I guess. In the meantime it looks like the highway is our home."

The coin flipping went well for a while. Eventually they made it out of town, though by an unusual route, and Dean smiled as he pushed the pedal down and took his baby up to the speed limit. 

"What do I do," asked Cas, still clutching his coin, "if I want to go straight, or turn when there's no corner?"

"You ask me nice," teased Dean, "and give me road head."

Cas chuckled softly and stared out the windshield for a moment in silence. Then, just when Dean's mind had started to wander, Cas leaned over towards the driver’s side and began unzipping Dean's jeans. 

"Well fuck," he laughed loudly, "We haven't even made it twenty miles. We're still in the same county!"

"I wanted to go straight," responded Cas, breath hot on Dean's newly exposed cock.

"We're already going straight," husked Dean, quickly becoming engorged between his legs.

"Okay," relented Cas, "I just wanted to suck your dick."

"It's gonna be a good trip," Dean chuckled.

It wasn't easy keeping his foot on the gas or the car in its lane as Cas went to town on him, but he did his best and only wound up having to pull over for the big finish. It was a great start to their trip. It was also a great start to teaching Cas about car games, most of which Dean altered to a much sexier version of their family-friendly roots.

Cas was eager for road-head reciprocation from the first day. But, ever protective of Baby, Dean kept the servicing of Castiel’s cock confined to moments when the car was in park. Despite his efforts to one-up Cas’ best tricks, Dean found his friend overly anxious to experience his first 60 mph knob job. So, as a compromise, Dean reached over and began tugging Cas out of his jeans as they took the exit ramp towards a rest area. Cas slowed to a crawl and finally pulled over awkwardly as Dean sank down on him. Judging by the horns of the three semi’s who passed by them during the event, Dean assumed that he either looked really good giving head or that the truckers were angry at their shitty park job. He couldn’t be bothered pulling his mouth off of his man long enough to find out which.

They didn’t have a route planned, just a hand-written list of things they wanted to see and do. Though they crossed off many things, the list only seemed to grow longer, both of them adding things whenever the mood struck them.

Dean had never been so happy. Every day with Cas was an adventure. From time to time, his phone would light up with a call from his father and Jim, or from Sammy, or from some friend from back home. But, for the most part, it was just the two of them. They spent their days listening to good music, talking of where they were headed, seeing the sights and diggin’ the ride.

Mostly they stayed in non-descript roadside motels, but occasionally Dean would opt for something nicer. He’d realized at some point on this trip that this was their own version of a honeymoon. It was their time just to be together and enjoy life a little before they settled into the responsibilities of house and home and gainful employment.

So, with that in mind, he’d relaxed into the spirit of the trip and stopped feeling guilty every time he slid his brother’s credit card over the counter to pay for something. He encouraged Cas’s every whim and gave himself over to cheesy souvenir t-shirts and selfies with his man in front of each attraction.

Cas, uninhibited and in love, was very open to new sexual experiences and gave Dean a run for his money in the ‘hey that’s kinky let’s try it’ department. It would seem that in addition to their handwritten list of things to _see_ , there was also an invisible list of dirty things to _try_.  And, with an item from that list in mind, Dean pulled off the highway and into a hotel for the night.

Forcing a poker face, Dean directed Cas to the office of the sleazy motel he’d chosen. Normally, he wouldn’t have taken his man to a by-the-hour fleabag. But, he had plans for them tonight; plans that wouldn’t be acceptable in a motel where families with children might be staying.

Once the room was paid for, Dean let Cas follow him back out into the seedy parking lot. The dated neon around the L-shaped motel was in poor shape, as were most of the cars in the lot. Amidst them, baby stood out like a diamond in the rough. Directly under the halo of a streetlamp, her shiny black paint glistened.

Dean approached the car slowly, looking around them cautiously before gesturing for Cas to open the trunk for their bags. Then, as Cas obeyed, he stepped up behind the man. In full view of the public, Dean then put his hands on his lover and pushed him forward, bending him over the back of the car suggestively.

Cas didn’t protest, merely turning to look at Dean over his shoulder with a teasing smile. It was clear that Cas just thought this was heavy flirting. To make his intentions clearer, Dean reached around Cas' waist and began to undo his man’s belt. Laying a hand over Dean’s gently, Cas huffed a laugh and admonished him to wait until they were inside because, “Someone might see.”

“Exactly,” chuckled Dean, leaning in to press a kiss to his lover’s neck. “Do you remember,” he whispered between kisses, “what it was like when we were kids? When we stumbled onto the men in the tent? How it felt to watch?”

“Yes,” answered Cas stiffly, his hand still over Dean’s and slowing his progress on the belt buckle. “But…

“I liked it, Cas,” confessed Dean. “I mean, I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was exciting watching what those men did to each other. You felt it too, I know you did.”

“Yes,” he admitted, still not releasing Dean’s hand.

“It’s a bad memory now, because I know what was really happening in that tent. But I’ve been other places, Cas; places where men do things to each other and let others see it. They do that because it’s exciting to be watched.”

The weight of Castiel’s hand grew lighter on Deans as he considered what was being proposed. A moment later, the hand lifted completely. It was consent. Immediately Dean returned to loosening the buckle and as he did, he was whispering to Cas. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, we can just go inside if you want. But I think you’ll like it Cas… it’s so sexy to know people can see. Plus, man, I have such a kink for doin’ it on my car… and you look so amazing on her… can we? Can we do it on my baby?”

Cas didn’t speak. But he dipped his head in a nod of agreement. Simultaneously he pushed back a bit too… letting his ass push against Dean’s package. Encouragement. With fevered fingers, Dean tore Cas’ jeans open, the belt clunking as he jerked the man's pants down to his thighs. Cas picked his head up, looking around the parking lot as Dean cupped handfuls of Castiel’s gorgeous ass. 

In the crisp fall night, brittle leaves skittered across the parking lot on a breeze and Cas' pert cheeks broke out in goosebumps. Feeling exhilarated to be doing something so dirty in a relatively public place, Dean was already hard. “Just tell me if you wanna stop,” he husked as he set to work on his own belt and opened his fly. Relaxing his upper torso onto the car, Cas then spread his legs as far as he could with jeans still hugging his thighs.

Thrilled to be indulged in this fantasy, Dean took in the sight of his lover spread out over the back of his car. The man’s lean frame, sun-kissed skin, and perfectly shaped ass set his mouth to watering. From a few paces away, a stray cat darted across the pavement. The movement startled them both and they froze for a second, both breaking into laughter as they watched it disappear under a nearby car. As Dean turned his attention back to Cas, though, his eye caught another movement... the curtains of a nearby room moving, being pulled back. Yes. It would seem they had the beginning of an audience. He wondered if Cas had seen it.

Enjoying the buzz that accompanied the knowledge of being watched, Dean felt his cock swell larger. He was full of lust as he bent over and plunged his face between his lover’s cheeks. Cas must’ve been surprised by the action because Dean could feel his startled jolt. But as he set to work, laving his tongue sensually over his man’s entrance, Cas let out a filthy moan. Just hearing it set Dean’s heart to racing and filled him with vigor. He went about his work energetically and enthusiastically and he loved the idea that anyone watching would be stunned by the blatant carnality of his actions… sexually subservient in nature but delivered forcefully as his partner squirmed beneath him. Adding to the eroticism of the moment, Castiel started growing noisy. Demanding.

As Dean teased with his lips, tongue, and teeth, Cas was shoving backwards, one hand reaching behind him to hold Dean’s head down in the crack as he ordered him deeper. Harder. More. It was impossible to ignore his own dick, swollen uncomfortably between his legs, especially when the gentle breeze passing over its heated flesh accentuated the slow leak of fluid from his tip. The sensation sent a chill up his spine.

"Yes..." whispered Cas, arching his back.

Standing back up again, Dean traded his aching tongue for fingers. He shoved them first in Cas’s face with orders to suck them. Then he stroked his cock with his free hand while Cas did as he was told.

“There’s someone watching us,” whispered Cas when the fingers were extracted.

“Where?” he asked.

“Across the lot,” answered his friend, gesturing minimally.

Dean's eyes flicked to where Cas was looking and saw a woman standing about twenty yards away. She was paused mid-stride and gaping at them. Even as he looked directly at her, she was staring. Just staring.

Pulling his eyes away from the woman, he said to Cas, “There’s someone watching from there, too.” With a tip of his head, Dean directed his attention to the window of an adjacent room where someone was watching from behind parted curtains. About twenty yards away, a car went by on the road.

“And,” added Dean, tracing fingers down the man’s crack and sliding in slow, “there’s a camera on that building.”

“Camera?”

“Yeah, right there. See it?”

“Who’s watching us in the camera?” asked Cas softly, rocking back onto Dean’s probing fingers.

“Probably the dude at the front desk; maybe a security guard.”

“You’re right Dean,” panted Castiel, “this is so exciting.”

Desperate as Dean had ever seen him, Castiel reached back with both hands and pulled his cheeks apart for Dean. Who could resist that? Watching as the man's hole twitched for him, Dean added another finger and smiled as his man groaned and asked for another.

Dean’s jeans had been falling lower and lower as he’d been busy between Cas’ legs and he bent awkwardly now to reach down into his pocket for a pack of lube. Cas’ entrance was so wet and shiny that it didn’t seem necessary but he ripped it open anyway and squeezed the contents onto his own swollen member.  His cock was aching with want and the rest of his body hummed with salacious desire as he guided the crown into place. “How do you want it?” he asked, “hard and fast or slow and deep?’

Turning to look over his shoulder, Cas asked in a needy voice, “Can’t I have both?”

“You can,” smiled Dean, glancing around again to make sure none of their witnesses were angry witnesses. He hoped no one was calling the management. Or the cops. He'd chosen this location because it seemed hospitable to dark deeds and so far, it had been.

Putting his weight behind his cock, Dean pushed his tingling crown past a shiny pink rim. Still leaning into Castiel, he let himself be enveloped. Watching his triumphant cock sink inside, wet and thick, Dean could hardly contain himself. When he’d sunk in all the way and found himself buttressed up against his lover, he moved his slick hands up and shoved the man’s shirt up to expose his tanned back. Cas had folded his arms and was now resting his head on them, appearing completely relaxed.

Under the harsh white light of a streetlamp, Dean leaned in and kissed between his man’s shoulder blades. Then, as Cas hummed softly, Dean began to move. Rolling his hips artfully, he worked a slow figure eight and watched his friend begin to match his movements. From around a corner they heard a car door slam, but Dean never saw anyone approach. He forgot about it completely as his man’s head lifted, body starting to rock back harder.

As they built together, Dean’s movements became less sensual. His swiveling hips grew more urgent and turned his artful rolls into heated thrusts. When he found himself clamping down on his friend’s hips, holding him still as he picked up speed, Dean knew he was close to blowing up.  

Cas gasped as he was shoved forward with the force of Dean pounding into him and he watched proudly as Cas’ hands scrambled for something to grip… something to hold on to. Dean was dishing out a punishing fuck and though the man's cock was probably trapped beneath him, Cas didn’t complain. He just bore down and took what Dean dished out to him, still pushing himself back, still angling to get deeper.

Getting carried away, Dean cracked his open hand on the man’s ass as he fucked it rough, loving the way the sound carried and how much Cas seemed to like it too. When his mind flashed again to those watching them, Dean wondered if they were too far away to see properly, or if his shiny car, directly under a streetlamp, was visible enough to provide a view. The Impala was rocking under them as they moved and Cas was calling out his name, and he could hold off no longer. Dean came. He came harder than he ever had before.

Cas was weak-kneed as Dean pulled out of him, slumping down with his ass still exposed, hole wide open and bright red from abuse, jeans rucked down around his knees, and Dean's juices running out obscenely.

Cas hadn't climaxed yet, so Dean hiked his pants up and gritted his teeth as he shoved himself unceremoniously back into his jeans. He fished out their key card and stepped away for a second to shove it in the door. Once it was open, he turned back to his lover and gently pulled Castiel from the car. He supported most of the man’s weight as they hobbled inside and over to the bed.

“That was amazing, Cas,” praised Dean, stopping just short of actually telling his man ‘thank you’ for the incredible lay.

“You were right about it being sexy people watching,” grinned Cas, pushing himself to the center of the bed. Dean’s eyes slid down over his man’s rumpled clothes and he reached out to tug Cas' jeans the rest of the way off. Cas assisted the effort by pulling and twisting to extract his feet. Once they were naked, Dean climbed onto the bed and dove down, opening wide and taking his man’s length all the way to the hilt.

Fighting his gag reflex valiantly, Dean bobbed up and down, servicing his man with a ravenous appetite. Considering he’d already cum, Dean was stunned by how eager he was for more. Reaching behind himself, Dean worked his own puckered hole open as he sucked off his lover. When he felt ready, he climbed forward and sat down on the huge wet cock he’d been sucking.

Feeling the burn of his muscles stretching over Cas’s hard dick, Dean let his eyes close to enjoy the sensation. Being speared like this, even of his own volition, rode a thin line between pain and pleasure. His cock was soft between his legs, but he still enjoyed a warm buzz in his lower body as he began pumping himself up and down on his lover.

The sensation of heat that warmed in his belly as Dean rode his man seemed to be enough to start him hardening again. Just a little. His semi began to bounce as he moved and Cas reached out to take it in hand. When Castiel finally came, his hand clamped down on Dean’s exhausted cock while his mouth locked open in a wide ‘O’ and his eyes scrunched shut tightly. Dean grinned in satisfaction.

They sprawled on the bed afterwards, basking in the afterglow. Dean’s mind wandered pleasantly over their time on the road so far and he found himself loving it all, especially Cas and that spark he had... that passion in his eyes as he explored new territory. To think he’d almost missed it all by dismissing Sam’s attempts to do something for him. Grateful to his brother, Dean sent him a silent thank you for meddling.

“I owe you an apology, Cas,” he mumbled from their shared pillow.

“For what?” asked Cas, hardly opening his eyes.

“I never asked you what you wanted. Not back when you were a prisoner and not after you were free. I always thought I knew what you needed. But I didn’t. Sammy, though, he knew to ask you. It’s because of him that we’re even on this trip… and I don’t mean just because he paid for it. I mean because he thought to ask what you wanted. I was so sure that after all those years on the road, what you would really want was a home. But that’s not what you wanted at all was it?”

“I already have a home,” murmured Cas sleepily.

“You do?”

“I do. Dean, I was twelve years old when we met. You kissed me that night, and you held me. It was the safest and most loved I'd ever felt. When you put your arms around me, I'm home.”

Dean was stunned by the simple truth of those words. Beside him, Cas fell asleep and began to snore. It was adorable.

Clinging to consciousness just long enough to utter a prayer, as he now did nightly, Dean addressed his heavenly father. He issued a heartfelt apology for being less than his maker had wanted him to be, as all humans are. Then he said a grateful thank you for the many blessings in his life, the greatest of which was Castiel. When he’d finished, Dean surrendered to a deep and peaceful sleep, cradling the man that he loved.

 

 


End file.
